


A Game of Vice

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eventual Prinxiety, M/M, Sympathetic Deceit, chapter 4 is a doozy for warnings so check the chapter summary out first when you get there, deceit is a tired mom, dee works with the Light Sides to rescue Roman because remus is a little b!tch, implied/eventually overt logicality, lots of remus, remus is a little b!tch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: When Remus gets tired of Roman always being the favored Creativity, he comes up with a "game" - to see how long it takes for the others to notice he's missing, and, when that happens a bit quicker than he had hoped, how quickly they can navigate Remus' side of the Imagination to get to him.(this is one of those Roman-is-trapped-in-the-Imagination fics but Deceit has been added to the rescue group because he's tired of Remus' bullsh!t)





	1. Once Upon a Time

Roman really should have known a lock wouldn’t last him forever. 

To be fair, he _did_ know that, and he’d known it the minute he imagined the extra bolts onto his bedroom door a few weeks ago; it’s just that a very hopeful and arguably naive part of him dutifully ignored that knowledge. It’s not like the locks _hadn’t_ worked - they were very useful, in fact, or at least he was led to believe so since no one else had gotten into his room since they were installed (which was a tad surprising, considering the... _force_ he was attempting to block happened to have the same, possibly more, imaginative power as he did, and he didn’t really expect a few bolts to stop anything) - they just weren’t quite enough. Of course, in the end, debating the locks’ usefulness didn’t even really matter. It was his own carelessness that got him into a raging mess. 

The day had started off perfectly usual: he woke up, got breakfast when he heard Logan and Patton get up so he wouldn’t be walking alone to the kitchen, and lounged in the Commons with Patton, who was very interested in knitting what Roman assumed was supposed to be a sweater (though it looked a little more like a lopsided blanket for an exceptionally short person), for a good few hours. He was just staring at a new page of his notebook, racking his brain for a story idea, when he heard someone calling his name from upstairs.

“Sounds like Virge,” Patton offered when Roman just stared at where the voice had come from, eyebrows furrowed and posture stiff. 

“Ah.” The tension dissipated from his shoulders as soon as it had come. Patton gave him a curious look, fumbling another stitch on his, eh, sweater, though he didn’t seem to mind (which explained a lot). 

“He’s probably returning my Grimm’s fairy tales book,” Roman surmised, “which he borrowed, like, _two weeks ago_!” He shouted the last bit towards the stairs in the hopes that Virgil would hear - seriously, he’d been badgering the anxious side to return the book for a week now, so it was about time he actually got it back. “I’ll be right back, Padre.”

He set his notebook down on the couch cushion and headed up the stairs, bobbing along to the little tune Patton hummed as he returned to his knitting. He half expected to see Virgil waiting near his door when he reached the top of the steps, but the hallway was empty; he wasn’t exactly keen on having to venture into the anxious side’s room, but if it was just to retrieve something and get out, he’d probably be fine. 

Oh, but what if Virgil wanted to discuss one of the stories? He probably wouldn’t feel like leaving his bedroom if he hadn’t already… perhaps Roman could sink them out to the commons, to make for an easier transition? Or maybe he could just endure the bedroom long enough for a teeny-tiny discussion? His easy stride faltered as he considered what his limit was for the powers of Virgil’s room, and therein lay his mistake. 

In the few seconds he stood paused, just over a foot from Virgil’s door, he felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck, felt a shiver of something sharply _wrong_ and all too familiar shoot up his spine. He knew immediately that he needed to move, to the side or forward or somewhere other than where he was right then- but he was too slow. 

There was a rough tug on the back of his sash, and he stumbled backwards, flailing his arms to struggle for any semblance of balance as the heel of his boot caught in the carpet and sent him back even farther; he crashed into the figure behind him and the grip on his sash was instantly around him instead, just below his shoulders, and then there was another hand over his mouth - Virgil’s door was so close, he could have just said a word and the anxious side surely would have heard him - and a singsong hiss in his ear: “Hello, my dear brother!” 

Roman could just barely see the embellishments on Remus’ sleeves in his peripheral, gaudy and sparkling even under the dim lighting in the hallway. There was a subtle dig in his back from the crystals and teeth (he shuddered to himself) on his brother’s jacket, which turned into an almost painful dig as Remus tightened his grip; the foreboding in Roman’s chest melted away to panic as he tried and failed to separate himself from his brother. 

“Long time, no see,” Remus continued cheerily, though his voice was hardly above a whisper, confirming Roman’s suspicions that Virgil was close enough to possibly help. He just had to reach the door somehow, or get Remus’ hand off his mouth and shout- “You know, with as little as we’ve seen each other since Thomathy’s last video, I’d almost think you’ve been avoiding me! That’s deplorable etiquette, truly, and I will admit that I expected better from you, but alas.” 

Roman had half a mind to try and bite him, but then again, he didn’t really want to interact with whatever Remus messed around with in his side of the Mindscape, so kicking it was. 

He tugged forward, lurching enough to pull Remus along with a stumbling step, and kicked out, trying his best to aim for the doorknob as hard as he could. Hitting the door would be fine, the wall beside it a little less so, but if he kicked the knob, it would surely make a loud enough noise in Virgil’s room to alert the anxious side-

But he missed, just by an inch, and before he could try again, Remus gave a laugh that sounded like air fleeing from a crushed balloon. The arm around Roman’s shoulders vanished and reappeared as a curled grip in his hair; Remus pulled, hard, and the door, Roman’s only chance at getting out of his brother’s vise unless one of the other Sides just happened upon them right then, was out of reach again as his vision blurred with pain. 

“Did I get ol’ Virgie’s voice right, then?” Remus hissed in his ear. “It’s been a while since I’ve imitated him, but I think I hit it spot on, right?” 

It took a second for Roman to understand the question - Virgil hadn’t called for him. He wouldn’t even know to be waiting for the prince to knock on his door. A sliver of hope crumbled away in his heart.

“Well, we don’t want to bother him now. Why don’t we have a little chat in my side of the ‘scape?” 

The familiar sensation of sinking out, a tug in his core, brought another strike of panic in his chest - being stuck in a hallway with Remus was bad enough, but it was a picnic compared to being stuck in the Dark Sides’ part of the Mindscape with him. Roman made a noise in the back of his throat, a strangled, last-ditch effort to alert Virgil behind his door or Patton down in the common area or even Logan in his room at the far end of the hall, forcing down a wince as Remus’ fingers curled tighter in his hair to focus all his energy on resisting the command to sink out. He was Creativity, too - he could fight his brother, push back with his own force. 

For a split second, he felt like it worked. The tug in his middle lessened like a weight being lifted from his shoulders; he felt his feet stabilize on the hallway floor once more. 

“You make this too easy,” Remus grinned, and they were gone. 

Deceit had learned, throughout many, many years of being stuck and forced to deal with him in the “Dark”-scape (he much preferred to call it the Otherscape, if only for the Coraline ring it had), to simply expect the unexpected with Remus. 

Well, calling this “unexpected” would be an understatement. 

Remus looked as unhinged as was normal as he appeared in their little commons area that afternoon, his smile far too wide and eyes a bit more open than should be the default, which Deceit was well used to and in fact hardly fazed by anymore, but the duke didn’t usually bring his brother in tow - and from the looks of it, Roman most definitely did not come willingly. 

His face was pinched with pain as he wriggled in his brother’s hold, and as Deceit scanned the scene, he realized Remus had a white-knuckled grip on his hair and wrist. It was… disconcerting, to say the least.

“Remus,” Deceit started, flipping his book shut slowly and setting it in his lap, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Remus peeked over Roman’s shoulder and grinned. It was, as usual, a feral expression; Deceit had the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and hope either he or Remus would disappear, but he barely trusted Remus to behave when he _was_ looking. Clearly. 

“Nagini!” Remus greeted with irreverent cheer, “I didn’t see you there! How are you today?”

“I’m fine.” A lie now, not that Remus would notice (or care). “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing important, don’t worry. My beloved brother and I,” he yanked at Roman’s hair as the prince tried to pull away, and Roman winced, “are just going to have a little chat. He’s been avoiding me, you see-”

“I wonder why,” Roman seethed.

“-and that’s simply dreadful for sibling bonding and whatnot, so I thought we’d hash it out all, eh, diploma…ly.”

Deceit stared at him. “Diplomatically.” 

“That’s it! You know, you and I make a great team-”

“Diplomats don’t use force, Remus,” Deceit continued in a deadpan, eyes flickering over the struggling prince in Remus’ grip once more - he met Roman’s gaze and saw a flash of something desperately hopeful, a silent plea, in his eyes. “And I hate to be the one to inform you, but Thomas is rather destitute without your brother at hand, so I’d suggest you leave your _chat_ for a later time or a larger audience.” 

Roman raised his eyebrows as his gaze flickered to the side, clearly awaiting Remus’ response, and Deceit finally noticed just how shallow his breathing was; he’d never seen Roman panic. He couldn’t say he enjoyed it now. 

After a few seconds, he realized the room had fallen silent. He looked to Remus and found the duke staring at him, smile all but faded completely - the look itself didn’t unnerve Deceit, since he’d been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count, but with Roman still locked in place, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d thoroughly screwed up. 

“Destitute,” Remus echoed, his voice suddenly hollow. His gaze slipped to the floor before traveling back up to Roman’s face, and he gave a small, empty smile. “Well, you hear that, Ro?” he said softly, tilting his head to the side as if considering something. “You’re pretty important. Must be nice. 

“In fact,” he continued, either ignoring or missing Roman’s attempt at responding; the glimmer in Remus’ eyes gave Deceit an inexplicable urge to stand up and reach for the prince himself, tug him from his brother’s grasp before things went south. Or further south, he supposed. “In fact, why don’t we see just how important you are? Won’t that be fun? It’ll be like a game!”

“Remus,” Deceit tried, but Remus’ attention was solely on his brother, whose eyes had gone wide as he tried to pull his wrist from Remus’ hold.

“Say, you’re still a sap for fairy tales, right?”

“ _Remus_ -”

“Where does Rapunzel rank on your list?” 

“Wait,” Roman choked out.

“No waiting, Roman,” said Remus, his mouth upturned in a grin once more. “I’m too excited to start already. And you,” he said, turning back to Deceit, who watched with a blend of panic and confusion, “no spoilers! I want to see how long it takes the no-fun Sides to realize they’re a prince short.” He gave a delighted shrug of his shoulders. “Tata for now, then! We have a game to begin!”

Deceit’s book went flying off his lap as he finally stood and reached a gloved hand out - he could keep them here if he just grabbed Roman’s arm, he had no doubt he could overpower Remus’ command to sink out - but Remus was quick, much quicker than Deceit expected. The last thing the snake-faced side saw before they were gone completely was the look Roman gave him, all wide eyes and clear desperation, painfully discordant on a face so usually adorned with confidence. 

And then Deceit was alone again. 

Alone, and extraordinarily pissed off. 

“Get the hell out.” 

Deceit didn’t falter at the less-than-gracious greeting as he entered the “Light” side of the Mindscape; Remus may have proven spontaneous, but Virgil was almost comfortingly predictable. 

Three pairs of eyes were on him when he glanced around - he’d found them in the commons, which was significantly warmer and more homely than in the Otherscape, littered with random books and colorful pillows and a positively horrendous knit… _thing_ on the couch cushion beside Patton (was it a blanket? It looked like a blanket for a penniless lawn gnome). His eyes fell onto a golden notebook sitting on the arm of the couch, opened to a blank page. He stared at it for a moment.

“Hello?” Virgil snapped, waving an arm to catch Deceit’s gaze. “I said get out! Leave! Go!”

“What are you doing here, Deceit?” Logan sighed as he sent Virgil an even glance; the anxious side frowned and crossed his arms across his chest, huffing a stray hair out of his eyes. “We’re in the middle of something right now.”

“I’m sure. Get up.” 

“...Excuse me?”

“All of you, get up,” Deceit repeated, motioning for them to stand when they just kept staring at him. “We’re leaving now. Get up.” 

Virgil made a face at him. “Um, I think not. You-”

“It wasn’t a request, and if you want to find Roman soon then you’ll listen to me and get up _now_.”

Virgil’s protest died out instantly. Logan and Patton sent each other a glance, something silent traveling between their gazes (they seemed to do that a lot, Deceit noticed) as Patton’s eyes went a little wide. 

“What do you mean, find him?” the moral Side asked slowly, wringing his wrists in his lap. 

_What do I-_ Deceit forced a deep breath in and out; he had to stay patient for now, sane enough to explain it to them, but he’d been here for just over a minute and he was already close to snapping. Patient. Sane. Composed. 

“I _mean_ ,” he started through grit teeth, “that he is _missing_ , if you haven’t noticed - which I’m assuming you have, judging by this oh-so-lovely consecration in your living room - and when someone is _missing_ , you have to go out and _find them_. Do you follow?”

“Where is he?” 

No, yeah, he was definitely going to go insane if they didn’t get going soon. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d have told you already?”

“How did _you_ know he was gone?” Virgil spat, eyes narrowed. 

Deceit leveled his gaze at the anxious Side, narrowing his eyes right back. “Leave the accusation to rest, Virgil, it’s Remus you’re after.” Patton sucked in a breath, and Logan at least had the grace to look annoyed - good; let this situation get some semblance of an appropriate reaction. “He appeared with Roman and went rambling on about a game, then disappeared. My guess is they’re in the Imagination,” he finished, straightening his capelet, garnering a little satisfaction at the shocked silence he received.

But Virgil stared at him still, gaze cold and unreadable even as Deceit stared back. 

“Why are you telling us?” he said finally, lowly.

“Because I trust Remus about as far as I can throw him.” It wasn’t a lie, just... not quite the whole truth, but he wasn’t about to get into _that_ with someone who clearly wanted to run him through with a kitchen knife. “Plus, he told me not to tell you all, so of course,” he gave a bright smile, “here I am.” 

If Virgil was dissatisfied with that answer, he didn’t announce it; he just looked to Patton and Logan, who did that talking-without-talking thing again (seriously, did they practice that in their off time?) and nodded at the same time. 

“Let’s go, then,” Logan conceded, standing and brushing imaginary dirt from his pants before offering Patton a hand. He gave Deceit a reluctant nod. “Lead the way.” 

“Thank you,” Deceit said haughtily, and turned with a sweep of his cape to start up the stairs.

They traveled in relative silence up the steps and down the hallway; he heard some whispering between Patton and Virgil, but as long as they were still following him, he didn’t care enough to listen in or cut them off. They passed a couple doors, one so dark Deceit felt a pang of nostalgia in his chest from when he slept across from a very similar room, and another decorated with a star that reminded him of a celebrity dressing room and, of course, Roman- and there, at the end of the hall, was a plain white door with an iron knob and a distinct, airy shimmer, much more pleasant to look at than the one in the Otherscape (which was black and shifted with a thick murkiness that made Deceit’s head swim whenever he stared at it too long; needless to say, he didn’t stare at it often). 

“I don’t suppose one of you would like to open it,” he called over his shoulder, eyes flickering over the pale wisps that danced about the doorway. 

Virgil snorted from behind him, but it was Patton who shouldered past and turned the knob, pushing the door open and stepping into the Imagination first. 

“Oh, that’s… huh.”

Deceit strode in behind him and promptly froze. 

He’d been to the Imagination before. He’d been a few times, actually, since it was a relatively guaranteed reprieve from the antics of the… _others_ , not to mention is was relaxing all on its own; sometimes he went and just strolled through whatever landscape it had become that day - a meadow, a forest, a highland dotted with wildflowers, whatever. 

So seeing it now was, admittedly, a bit of a shock.

It was a forest, at least, but it was dark and overgrown, tree trunks blackened and ground strewn with dead leaves and something crunchy that Deceit wasn’t keen on identifying as he shivered with a sudden breeze; there were no woodland creatures roaming around, no wildflowers dotting the forest floor, no sunshine dripping down through the canopy above, and (not that he expected it to be so easy) no Roman. 

He went to tug at his capelet and found there was more fabric than usual - with a glance down at his outfit, he found a longer cape, a black outfit much more medieval than his own (and with far less yellow, he noted bitterly), and a leather belt at his waist, laden with a hilt and what he guessed was a sword. Patton’s outfit had also changed into some draped tunic and long shirt and pants underneath; the other two probably got a wardrobe update as well. 

So much for ‘expect the unexpected’. 

He heard Logan and Virgil enter behind him, heard their footsteps stop as they took in the scenery. 

“This is a bit,” Logan paused, frowning at the landscape, “ _extra_.”

“It’s definitely Remus,” Virgil commented drily. 

“You bet your little emo heart it is!” 

Deceit startled at the shrill voice - not as much as Patton, who literally jumped - and glanced to its origin: Remus stood in the center of the path before them, arms and smile wide in greeting as he waited for their attention. The purpley-blue shadows around his eyes seemed ten shades darker in the eerie lighting of the forest, his skin nearly luminescent, though it was still ashen, leeched of color compared to Roman’s freckled tan. 

“I’m absotively euphoric to see you’ve all arrived,” Remus cheered - his voice seemed to echo around the forest, coming from every direction at once. “And so quickly- I’m impressed!” His gaze found Deceit’s, and he tsked, shaking his head. “But I told you no spoilers, Dee. You’ve ruined a part of the game.”

Deceit just raised an eyebrow. “They already knew he was missing, Remus. All I did was make them move faster.” 

“Speaking of _him_ ,” Virgil cut in, shoving past Deceit to stare Remus down, eyes aflame, “where is Roman?”

“Oh, there’s the fire!” Remus gave a delighted laugh and clapped his hands, ignoring the low growl Virgil responded with. “I do _so_ miss your temper around our side of the Mindscape, Virgie, it really added some life to the place. Now I’m stuck with Stickler Sanders over here,” he jabbed a thumb in Deceit’s direction, “and he’s just hardly any fun, you can imagine-”

“Remus,” Virgil snapped. 

“Right, right, my brother. It’s always about him, isn’t it? And that’s just so tiring sometimes. I’m perfectly entertaining myself, you know!” With a dramatic sigh and a hand to his heart, Remus glanced at them again, scanning their faces for reactions and rolling his eyes when he got none. “He’s royalty,” he said, plastering another grin onto his face. “Come on now, Virgil, don’t think I don’t know you fawn over those fairy tales, too - you know exactly where he is.” 

Deceit glanced over at the anxious side, followed his gaze as it traveled over the treetops and into the distance; there, on a hill that rose just over the forest, was a tower, though the sky was so dark it nearly blended together with the obsidian stone. That explained the Rapunzel reference, he guessed. 

“You want your little prince so bad?” Remus shrugged. “Go get him.” 

He gave a toothy grin and fluttering wave, and he was gone. 

Virgil stared at the empty spot, jaw clenched and hands curled into fists. “Motherfu-”

“Virgil,” Logan said carefully. The anxious side glanced over at him and back at the path, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a second, the tension in his shoulders remaining but lessening ever so slightly. “He’s trying to rile us up. The longer we stay calm, the better we’ll be able to navigate the forest and get to Roman- and we _will_ get to him, alright?” 

Virgil took another breath, then nodded. Patton reached a hand out, patted his shoulder, and sent Logan a grateful smile, which Logan responded to with a small nod, though his face went a little pink when Patton looked away. 

Deceit just watched with a single eyebrow still raised - he knew they were a domestic little ensemble, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever had to deal with it for any extended amount of time. He wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to. 

“Well,” he cut into their contented silence, and Virgil gave him a patented dirty look. “We should get going as soon as possible, yes?” 

“Right,” Logan agreed. (He was tolerable, Deceit decided, if a little stingy.) “The best course of action as of right now is to simply follow the path, unless anyone has any prior knowledge they’d like to share before we get started?” That was definitely directed at Deceit, but he was - reluctantly - as clueless as the rest of them, so he just shrugged along with Patton and Virgil. “Right then, let’s get started.” 

Virgil stood at the front of the group and glanced one last time at the tower over the trees, his gaze unreadable once more as they set out down the path. 

“We’ve got a prince to rescue.”


	2. Itsy Bitsy Spider

You’d think, after years of decorating his bedroom with cobwebs and blackout curtains, that Virgil would be used to dark, spooky places. That was apparently not the case. 

Admittedly, the general eeriness of his room didn’t exactly come with random noises in every direction or weird shadows in the corner of his eye (if those even were shadows; he didn’t particularly want to consider alternative possibilities), so he at least got some credit there - there was also no looming threat of someone he cared about being locked in a tower indefinitely when he was just listening to music in his bed. That was a pretty big contrast to his current situation. 

He really needed a nap. Or a Valium. 

“Virgil, if you’re so insistent on being in the lead, could you please make an effort to outrun a snail?” 

What he really _didn’t_ need was a certain snake-faced nuisance trailing behind him and driving him to consider homicide. 

“Would you rather we just sprint to our demise?” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder to glare at Deceit, who just raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. “And can you hold the attitude for, like, ten minutes? It’s not exactly helpful at the moment. Or ever.”

“Oh, _I_ have an attitude? I’m sorry,” Deceit said as he placed a hand to his heart, an expression of feigned apology plastered onto his face. Virgil had half a mind to deck him right then and there (though he usually had the urge to do that). “I’ll try to keep that in check as soon as you stop brooding and slowing us down with your existential angst.” 

Virgil stopped in his tracks and spun to face him, hands curled into fists at his side. “I have literally zero qualms about punching you in the face right now, Deceit.”

“Qualms,” Deceit repeated and raised his eyebrows, offering a small, overly polite clap. “That’s an impressive vocabulary choice for you, Virgil, I’m quite proud-”

“Oooookay,” Patton cut in - Virgil had almost forgotten he and Logan were a few feet behind them - as he gently tugged Deceit away from his and Virgil’s staring match. “That’s the fourth time you guys have almost gotten a lil’ too rowdy, and we’ve only been walking for half an hour. Let’s take a little break from that, alrightie- we’ll just walk quietly for a little bit, how’s that sound?” 

Deceit shrugged off Patton’s hands and straightened his cloak, nose in the air, looking down at Virgil - why did he get to be a few inches taller? “No, I don’t think we should.” The mediating smile on Patton’s face melted away into a small frown, but he just took a step back, inching closer to Virgil instead; Logan stepped forward from where he’d been watching and silently reclaimed his spot next to the moral Side. 

“Virgil _clearly_ has something he’d like to discuss,” Deceit continued, eyebrow still raised, “so why spend the rest of the trip in tension when we could just clear it up right now? Isn’t that right, Virgil?” 

_Do not commit homicide, do_ not _commit homicide, Patton would be disappointed in you_ \- 

“One,” Virgil started through grit teeth, “there’s not much to clear up; you’re a two-faced traitor and we all know it-”

“Traitor?” Deceit repeated carefully, pointedly. 

“ _Don’t_.” Virgil pretended not to notice the look Patton and Logan shared, just kept his eyes on a smirking Deceit and counted off on his fingers, “Two, there isn’t an option to just get rid of tension - I don’t like you, and that’s not changing anytime soon - and _three_ , this is not a ‘trip’; Roman’s in trouble, and we have no idea if he’s okay right now, and you’re only here helping us because of some petty power struggle with Remus!” Deceit’s smarmy expression faltered. “ _Some_ of us actually care about getting Ro back safely, so if you’re just gonna be an obnoxious prick while we do that, you’re more than free to go back to the Mindscape and congratulate yourself on yet another day of inconveniencing us.” He dropped his hand, curling his fingers into his palms so hard his nails bit into the skin. “Job well done, Deceit.”

The forest fell deathly quiet as he finished, and it was only then realized how shallow his breathing had become. The severity of the situation hit him fully there, standing in the middle of an unknown landscape with an enemy watching from somewhere around them and another beside them under the thin mask of an alliance: they knew next to nothing about where they were, how to navigate Remus’ twisted forest and whatever creatures or monstrosities came with it, how to find their way to the tower ahead, to save Roman before something forced him in harm’s way- assuming he wasn’t already. For all Virgil knew, this was all some pointless goose chase Remus had orchestrated just to mess with them, and Roman was already-

_No,_ Virgil accosted, swallowing past the lump in his throat. _Not here_ , _not now._ He refused to let Remus influence him, even here, surrounded by blackened, twisted trees that dripped with shadows and uncertainty. They were going to get to the tower, they were going to save Roman, and then everything would be fine because he refused to believe otherwise; all he had to focus on was getting back that overdramatic scoff and stupid prince uniform and sparkly eyes and charming, crooked smile and-

…Maybe that wasn’t the best path to go down right now either. 

He shook his head to clear it, refocusing on the scene before him: Patton and Logan had matching looks of concern on their faces, but Deceit just stared at him, mouth a taut line and his eyes unreadable. Virgil fought the urge to take a step back and raised his head instead - false bravado was still bravado, after all. 

“My intentions are hardly to inconvenience you all,” the snake-faced Side started in a low voice, “but when my suggestions are overlooked simply because of my role, _exclusively_ because of my role, I have no other choice but to make my input known in more drastic ways. If being a force you can’t ignore is the only way for me to fulfill my purpose, then so be it.” He sent a glance to Patton, brief and deliberate and met only with something indecipherable, before turning back and leveling his gaze at the anxious Side before him. “I understand your vendetta against me, Virgil, I do, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the slightest bit mutual; but believe me - ironic a request as it may seem - when I say my actions stand separate from our relationship. Everything I do, I do for Thomas.” His shoulders shifted with an unsteady breath, as if he were bracing himself, eyes flickering behind Virgil’s head, to the tower looming against a black sky in the distance. When he met Virgil’s gaze once more, there was an unmistakable glint of determination in his mismatched eyes. “And Thomas needs Roman. 

“So I’m here to help you,” he continued in the shocked silence, straightening his spine once more. “I’m here to help _Roman_ \- no strings attached, no ulterior motive. We don’t have to get along, per se, but if we can abide by a truce until we finish Remus’ little game, we’ll be out of here and back to our lovely, begrudging selves much sooner. What do you say?”

He stuck a hand out - his lemon yellow gloves were gone, replaced just like the rest of his outfit, just as Virgil’s had been (he sorely missed his hoodie, but he’d been more than relieved to see metal plates on his chest and forearms over a layer of chainmail; whatever happened in the forest, he’d at least have some protection - not to mention the purple fabric draped over his shoulder wasn’t exactly detestable); it was a dark leather glove that Virgil stared at now, unfamiliar and, by that nature, unencumbered by disquieting memories. 

He reached out and shook it. 

“A truce,” he repeated quietly, pulling his arm back and meeting Deceit’s eyes with a nod, “for Roman.”

“For Roman.” 

It wasn’t a seamless peace treaty, but if it meant Virgil could worry about one less villain on this godforsaken quest, then he’d take whatever he could get.

“Well, isn’t this just touching?”

_Oh, for God’s sake-_

“Remus,” Deceit greeted drily, not shifting his gaze to where the Duke was perched on a tree branch ahead, legs crossed and head tilted as he surveyed the scene with a sickly sweet smile. “Back so soon?”

“You know it,” Remus beamed. “You all just seemed so bored, I thought I’d liven things up a little!” 

“As the person who initiated this ‘game’, Remus, interrupting it is an odd choice,” Logan commented - he’d been remarkably quiet during their journey so far, so quiet that Virgil wondered now what he’d been doing up to this point, though he wasn’t complaining once he saw the look Logan got in reply. 

Remus’ gaze snapped to the logical Side, his smile flickering into an annoyed pucker. “I’m hardly interrupting _,_ Logan,” he said, drawing out each syllable of the name, “and if _you_ hadn’t interrupted _me_ , then you’d know that I am here to deliver a challenge, which is _part_ of my game.”

Logan squinted. “I do- I still know that now. You just told us.”

Deceit covered his snicker with a cough as Remus took in a deep, slow breath, lips pressed tightly together and eyes wide. 

“Right,” the duke said through a clenched jaw. “Moving right along.

“A challenge! Letting you all mosey along right up to my dear brother would take all the fun out of this whole thing, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for their responses before he nodded enthusiastically, eyes closed in agreement with himself. “It would, it really would, and I am not about to let boredom ruin what I worked so hard on for you guys.”

“You mentioned it once and sank out,” Deceit deadpanned. 

“So I have returned!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, throwing his arms up with the cheer. “And I will return again - assuming you can best my challenge this time - to give all of you a chance to beat your own little fairytale monster! Isn’t that fun?” He fixed them each with an all-too-cheery smile. “Let’s not delay any longer, I’m simply bursting with excitement.”

With a flourish of his hand, the tree branches ahead of them began to twist and stretch, forming a woven wall of black, gnarled bark to block their path. Virgil took a step back, glancing to Logan and Patton instinctually - Patton had latched onto Logan’s arm as the logical Side eyed the wall, scanning the branches as if searching for an opening or clue, though Virgil could see nothing that would help them. He forced even breaths in and out of his lungs even as his heart began to race. 

“Who first, whoooo first,” Remus sang to himself, tapping his chin as his eyes grazed over the four Sides before him; his gaze landed, and for a split second, Virgil’s heart stopped, but he soon realized the duke’s actually target was to his left, though the anxious Side might have preferred himself instead.

“Happy pappy Patton,” Remus said slowly, face twisted with a grotesque excuse for a smile as he leveled his gaze on the moral Side. Patton gave a strangled noise in the back of his throat and tightened his grip on Logan’s arm, prompting the logical Side to tug him back, shielding him ever so slightly from Remus’ deliberate stare. 

“Tell me, Patty-cake,” the duke continued regardless, swinging his feet in the air, “how would you go about a moral dilemma?” 

Patton just watched him with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows for a moment. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed before answering, hesitantly, “What do you mean?”

Remus grinned. “I’m so glad you asked.”

In an instant, the wall of branches ripped apart with a sickening crack that reminded Virgil far too much of snapping bones, revealing a shroud of shadows the size of a cat, melding with the natural shadows of the forest so seamlessly that its details could hardly be distinguished - until it opened its eyes.

All eight of them. 

A strained noise that sounded like the deflated ghost of a scream escaped Patton’s mouth as he stared at the tarantula ahead of them, his eyes wide and complexion ashen. “What fairytale is _this_?” he spluttered. 

In all honesty, Virgil thought the spider was kind of cute - fuzzy and golden-eyed, it reminded him vaguely of his own pet tarantula, though… way bigger. _Way_ bigger, like the Addams family version of a housecat. He suppressed the urge to go up and pet it, focusing instead on a clearly distressed Patton beside him.

“Come on, Patton, you don’t want to keep your new friend waiting,” Remus said, waving for the moral Side to step forward. 

Virgil fixed the duke with a glare. “He’s not going anywhere-”

“Oh, I’m quite sure he is, Virgil- unless you’d like to turn back now and avoid this altogether?” Remus examined his nails with a nonchalant shrug, “I’m sure Roman won’t mind too much; he’ll be glad to know you tried, I suppose, at least up until this point.”

Virgil had a few choice words ready to respond with, but Patton put a hand out, stopping him before he could begin - the anxious Side glanced over to see a look of shaky determination on Patton’s face as he stared at Remus and said, “It’s okay, Virgil. I can do this.”

He started toward the middle of the path, toward the spider, but Logan grabbed his wrist before he got far. 

“We’re right behind you,” the logical Side murmured, just loud enough for Patton to hear him; the moral Side gave him a tiny smile and nodded, before tugging his hand away and turning back to the challenge before him.

When he got to the center of the path, he called to Remus, without taking his eyes off the tarantula, “What now?”

Remus watched him in silence for a moment - his face was calm, adorned with something patronizing, something anticipatory, as if he enjoyed watching the moral Side squirm. “Kill it.”

“What?!” Patton gave a startled screech as a dagger appeared in his hand, nearly flinging it away as he jumped and turned his wide eyes upwards to look at Remus, face colored with horror. “ _What_?!” 

“Kill it,” Remus repeated with a shrug. “You hate spiders, don’t you?”

“Well- _yes_ , but-”

“But? There is no ‘but’, Patton. Spiders are bad. You don’t want Thomas to be tainted by bad things, do you? So kill it.” Patton stared at the dagger, then the spider, then back again, wrist trembling enough that Virgil could see it from nearly ten feet away. Remus tilted his head to the side. “What’s wrong, Patton? Is it not that easy? Is it not black and white - spider bad, Patton good?” 

Virgil felt a bolt of panic course through his chest as Patton sent a tearful glance over his shoulder - he wanted to help somehow, offer encouragement or _something_ , but he was as clueless as the moral Side; Remus offered no such sympathy as he stared down at Patton, all amusement on his face melted away, leaving something cold in his eyes, something dull and dogged. “Kill the spider, Patton.”

“I can’t,” Patton whispered. He glanced back again, but this time his eyes landed on Deceit, who had watched the entire scene with unreadable silence and met the moral Side’s gaze evenly then; Patton swallowed, turning back to face the spider as he straightened his spine and gave a firm shake of his head. “I _won’t_.”

Remus’ expression didn’t move.

“It doesn’t deserve it,” Patton continued hesitantly, as if expecting the duke to repeat his command yet again. “Just- just because I don’t like it- because it scares me, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve a chance at life. I don’t get to destroy every bad thing in Thomas’ mind.” He looked down and met the spider’s eyes, clearly repressing a shudder as it stared back unblinkingly. “He has to see the bad so he can appreciate the good. Besides,” he added quietly, voice still shaking slightly, though he took a daring, albeit slow, step toward the tarantula, reaching a tentative hand toward it, “sometimes something you think is bad at first does a lot of good in the end.” 

He slowly lowered his hand, inch by inch, and petted the spider’s head. 

It’s eyes closed immediately, opening to a contented squint as Patton gave its hair a gentle stroke - the moral Side let out a shocked, relieved laugh, tears still rolling down his face though stanched, and he glanced back and grinned at Logan and Virgil, who gave him a proud smile an enthusiastic thumbs up respectively. 

Then his eyes found Deceit, whose mouth was quirked into the tiniest smiles that Patton hesitantly returned.

“How sweet.” 

Four pairs of eyes turned up to Remus - he looked bored more than anything, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the trunk of his tree, eyebrows low and mouth set in a loose frown. He snapped and the spider was gone from under Patton’s hand. 

“Congratulations,” he said, voice flat, everything about him devoid of his usual shrill flair. “You can continue, or whatever.”

And he was gone.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Deceit scoffed, crossing his arms. 

Patton gave a shuddering sigh, making his way back to the group and asking hopefully, “Did I do good?” 

Virgil gave him a crooked smile. “You did amazing, Pops.”

“Truly,” Logan agreed, mirroring the beam Patton gave him at the praise, though it was replaced with shock as the moral Side wrapped him in a hug that he hesitantly returned after only a moment. 

Virgil watched the exchange with a smothered smile, but something nagged at him, a tugging in his chest; he looked out beyond the trees - he realized, staring out there, that they were heading into a valley now, where the forest seemed somehow denser - and to the tower in the distance, watching as the clouds quickly gathered thick around it, their inky color seeping into the gray sky around them. The thought of what rain could fall from the pitch-black sky brought a pit to his stomach. 

But skies were pale above them, so he pushed the thought from his mind and focused again on the domestic scene before him - he would keep his head as clear as possible until they were out of here, Remus defeated and Roman safe at his- _their_ side. His thoughts flitted back to his and Deceit’s truce, the feeling of leather in his calloused palms and the security of a mutual goal.

_For Roman._


	3. Brother Gothel

Roman _knew_ there was a reason he always hated towers. 

Sure, he usually shrugged it off as a fear of heights, common enough to garner him as little pity as possible from the other Sides, common enough to almost convince himself, even if a part of him crumbled at his dashing prince persona being tainted with such a phobia. Nevermind the fact that he conquered cliffs and chasms and treetops with ease. Maybe, he’d think to himself occasionally, maybe he just _happened_ to avoid towers; maybe they just never crossed his mind when he created new landscapes and villages, and that’s why every adventure he embarked on was blatantly lacking in such structures. It was a perfectly valid excuse, if he said so himself, and he was more than fine with pretending it was the truth until a better explanation forced its way to his attention. 

_Well, guess what, Roman?_ he thought to himself now. _The better explanation just kidnapped you and tied you to a chair._

So much for a fear of heights.

“Could you stop moving around? You’re distracting me.” 

Remus hadn’t actually been in the tower with him for long - not consistently, anyway. When they’d first appeared there, he just shoved Roman and turned to the singular window in the room as his brother stumbled back into an almost stupidly well-placed chair, staying silent as Roman protested the ropes that appeared and wrapped themselves around his wrists and arms. (A burst of fear struck Roman for the umpteenth time that afternoon when he looked around, got a glimpse of the landscape over Remus’ shoulder and realized where they were, in Remus’ twisted, shadowed side of the Imagination; he had little to no power here, no chance to simply will his binds away and summon his sword to fight his way out of his brother’s godforsaken tower.) After that, Remus had just glanced back, contempt sharp in his eyes, and disappeared, the first of many times he’d done so since then. 

He’d at least been in a better mood when he returned that first time: his smile had returned - discomfiting as it was, it served as a comfort to Roman that his brother was gleeful rather than cold and more unpredictable than usual - and he practically danced around the tower, whistling to himself as he messed with something behind Roman, something metallic that made a horrid screech as Remus dragged it across the uneven stone walls. 

_“They will come,”_ Roman had called over his shoulder then, his voice just unsteady enough to make him sound more like a petulant child than anything. Though he wasn’t sure how much faith he could put in the concern he’d seen in Deceit’s eyes when Remus dragged him to the Darkscape, he _did_ have faith in the others to discover his disappearance and come find him, be it with or without the snake-faced Side’s help. _“They’ll come for me.”_

He’d been pleasantly surprised when Remus replied in a singsong voice, in between those awful scraping noises, _“They already have!”_

His pleasure shriveled instantly as Remus appeared at his shoulder. Roman finally realized what the screeching came from, saw it in the corner of his eye as he was too paralyzed by the grinning presence just behind him to look at it directly: a long, thin sword, made of an oddly green metal, scarred by dozens of tiny notches and stained at the end with something dark that made Roman’s stomach turn. _“But the question is, Princey-poo, how far will they get before they decide you’re not worth it?”_

Needless to say, he hadn’t graced that with a response. Not because he didn’t have an answer, of course; obviously he knew his family - his _actual_ family - would power through whatever Remus threw at them, he just… didn’t want to give Remus the satisfaction of a response. 

Obviously. 

Remus had disappeared again shortly after that, reappearing a few minutes later with his eyes narrowed, hands folded behind his back as he paced the small perimeter of the room. He muttered something to himself and made an odd motion with his hands, a gesture that inexplicably reminded Roman of the motions to “Itsy Bitsy Spider” as he stared on in confusion, and then Remus glanced out the window with a grin and disappeared as quickly as he’d come. 

Now, though, as he stood at the window with his back to Roman and his head low, Remus was more snark than sardonics. 

“I wouldn’t be moving around if you untied me,” Roman mumbled, slumping as best he could beneath his restraints. The rope around his upper body - just above his elbows - wasn’t awful to deal with, though it was tight enough that breathing had to be a shallow endeavor, but he wanted nothing more than to tug his sleeves down to give his wrists a reprieve from the merciless, prickling fibers that had been scraping against them for the past forty-five minutes.

“Oh, but doesn’t it just add to the aesthetic of it all?” Remus said with a grand sweep of his arm, finally turning to face his brother, sunken eyes wide as he glanced around the room. “Royalty trapped in a tower, simply _agonizing_ for a brave knight to rescue them.” He straightened up and gave Roman a haughty look. “It’s poetic.” 

Roman just scowled. “If that was an Into the Woods reference, I’m impressed but mostly disgusted that you would use such a masterpiece against me.” 

“I’m simply heartbroken you don’t _like_ this, Roman,” his brother continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I tried so,” Remus clenched his fist, “ _so_ hard to appeal to your interests and keep you engaged; I thought you’d appreciate the Rapunzel tribute, but alas!”

“Rapunzel doesn’t get tied up.”

“She does at the end of _Tangled_.” 

Roman stammered for a rebuttal, but his brother had a point, so he just pressed his lips together and scowled some more. 

“Besides,” Remus continued, his gaze cold and even once more as he stared at Roman - whatever he’d done after he disappeared last time left him stony now, much quieter as he paced, and it was clear Roman was hardly his first priority at the moment. Roman saw the sheath at his side as he strode past, saw the tentacle-like tendrils that curled around the hilt of his sword. The heavy, even footsteps echoing around the room pounded in his ears like a heartbeat; he really didn’t like having Remus prowling out of sight. “You’re a _romantic_ ,” Remus said, enunciated as if the word was dipped in poison, “and won’t it be oh-so-sweet to be rescued by a dashing knight?”

He…made a good point (which Roman was reluctant to admit, so he just stayed still and listened, though he did wonder who exactly Remus had in mind as his ‘dashing knight’- not that he had a preference himself or anything), but something about his tone and the fact that the footsteps had stopped for a moment, right behind him, made the prince’s stomach twist. There was a moment of silence - suffocating and depriving at the same time as Roman held his breath - and then the sharp _clack_ of Remus’ boots on the stone floor began again.

“I’m playing by your dull rules, _Princey_ ,” Remus spat as he continued pacing, finally reaching his spot in front of the window and spinning to face Roman, eyes and words sharp. “Fairytales and knights and quests, is that not what you want?”

Roman stared at him, watched the way he flung an arm out to gesture to the world beyond the window; the anger, the seething flame burning on Remus’ face was not an expression Roman was used to seeing. His brother was always grim smiles or patronizing simpers or intense eyes that hid nothing and screamed mischief, if Remus wasn’t screaming it himself, and when he was quiet, it was just to give time for his shock-factor antics to sink in. There was no shock now. There was only ire and fear, wide eyes meeting each other with vastly different significance in the smothering silence as it fell between them. 

“I’ve made this game for you, Roman,” Remus said, voice low and nearly spilling over with something that boiled and splashed too close to Roman for his comfort, “to show you just how important and special and _loved_ you are by your new little family, and yet you still think it appropriate to belittle my hard work?”

And Roman just swallowed, his heart racing and eyes darting between Remus’ face and the sword at his side as his brother’s hand came to grip the hilt. It took him a good minute before he finally heard what Remus had actually said. _Your new little family_. 

“Oh,” he said stupidly. 

He’d nearly always chalked Remus’ actions up to his inherent unpredictability, his need for chaos and delight in tension; he’d never considered that it was his own fault that Remus felt the need to lash out. (This, of course, went a bit beyond lashing out, but he and Remus always were a tad extra.) Of course, from his perspective, it would seem as if Roman had abandoned him and left him to the Dark Sides, even if Remus got along swell there: Roman had found his place with the others, kept his brother hidden from Thomas’ attention just as they did with Deceit and even Virgil, back before he became more prominent, more essential. He’d shoved Remus as far away from Thomas as he could. He was desperate for his other half, his grotesque and irreconcilable reflection, to remain a shadow and keep himself in the spotlight of Thomas’ priorities and focus, even if it meant keeping Remus out of his own focus, too. 

He couldn’t very well refute Remus’ points - Roman was ashamed of him, as awful as it sounded now that he admitted it to himself, and he did his best to let his existence go unacknowledged on a daily basis - but there was a spark of what he hesitantly deemed sympathy in his chest, and as much as Remus _could_ be a detriment, Roman was ashamed of himself as well. 

“Remus,” he said quietly - his brother hadn’t shifted his gaze while the prince thought, nor did he soften at Roman’s tone now. “I’m _sorry_. I’ve never even thought about it from your perspective - I didn’t realize how much that must have hurt you.” 

This was the moment, with the others, Patton or Virgil or even Logan, when they’d both go quiet, contemplative, and their voices would be soft as they came to a mutual concession of value or merit or whatever they’d gotten into a scuffle about. They’d give a small smile to each other and they’d chat and throw a joke to cheer themselves up, to remind them that they were allies and friends at their core, that the future was full of compromise and respect and warm regards. Apologies were difficult, and to extend a sincere one was a gesture that went openly appreciated. 

But Remus was not one of the others. 

His gaze was blank, dead-eyed, as his fingers curled around the tentacled hilt of his sword, white knuckles betraying his cold front; Roman shrank back in his seat as his brother pulled the sword from its sheath, winced with a shiver down his spine when Remus dragged it along the ground behind him as he took slow, deliberate steps toward the prince. The click of his boots against the uneven stone echoed in Roman’s head like gunshots, again and again until he wanted to press his palms over his ears and squeeze his eyes shut and hope beyond hope that he was somewhere else when he opened them again.

But his eyes were open, wide and sharp with the threat of tears and trained helplessly on his brother, who finally stopped a few feet before him, head high and face unreadable. 

“Rem,” Roman managed through the fear clawing its way up his throat. “I’m willing to talk about this.”

Remus finally smiled, and Roman had never seen something more dreadful. 

“How chivalrous,” his brother said quietly. “How _honorable_.” His smile bordered on a sneer, a subtle, ridiculing blade in his voice that cut Roman to his core. “You’ve always had the option to talk, Roman. But guess what?” Sickly sweet now, dripping with enthusiasm and something scathing and acidic, grin wide enough for Roman to see Remus’ canines. “It’s my turn to pick now, and that option isn’t available anymore.”

Roman swallowed and opened his mouth to respond, but just as he went to push out a plea, there was something blocking it: a cloth tied around his head and between his teeth - he choked on the sudden gag, a tear finally falling from his squeezed-shut eyes as he coughed and struggled to pull in an even breath. 

When he finally righted in his seat, chest heaving and vision blurry with the rest of his tears unshed, Remus just watched him, a grim shadow of that smile still lingering on his face. The panic blazing through Roman’s chest doubled as his brother lifted his sword and pressed its stained tip to the prince’s throat.

“These may be your rules,” Remus started with what Roman could only guess was delight, “princes and rescuers and fantasy and whatnot, but it’s my game. Chin up now, Roman.” He gave an exaggerated grin and pushed the tip of his sword harder - a drop of warmth trickled down Roman’s throat - until Roman returned the smile, or a shaky excuse for one, from behind his gag. “We’re having fun!”

He dropped the sword, tucking it neatly back into its sheath with a firm nod of his head, seemingly satisfied. 

“Now if you don’t mind,” he said, eyes flickering from Roman to the rest of the room as if admiring his handiwork, “I have a bespectacled adventurer to put to the test!” 

And he was gone. 

Roman stared at the now-empty spot, his eyes finding nothing but pale, scraggly lines, scars from Remus’ sword across the stony floor. Another shot of panic scored his chest as he took in the phrase ‘bespectacled adventurer’ - he hoped it wasn’t Patton, although the spidery motions from earlier didn’t bode well now, and though he knew Logan could handle himself against Remus, he wanted the logical Side to avoid Remus’ twisted provocations all the same - but it was dull with shock and the numbing effect of overwhelmedness as his gaze drifted to the landscape beyond the window. 

He saw trees, gnarled and black. A pallid gray sky, stained with patches of charcoal, dark spots that foresaw a storm. Above all - ironic - he saw an emptiness that spanned before him, a lack of life in the altitudes Remus had dragged him to; the spine-tingling fear he’d felt all those times when his mind slipped during a quest in his side of the Imagination, when a single, looming structure forced its way into his adventures and nightmares alike, crawled up within him now, forcing the wall of unshed tears from his eyes at last. 

He was trapped in a tower, and he was utterly, undeniably, and suffocatingly alone. 


	4. Evil Die and Good Endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for disturbing imagery, mentions of blood/fainting/drowning, and panic attack, and also remus is a weirdo flirt for like one paragraph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG BOI CHAPTER BIG WHOOPS ANYWAY ENJOY

There was no sun visible in the sky as they moved forward. 

There were no beams escaping through the thick clouds overhead, no warmth seeping through their heavy grayness, nothing to indicate that the sun hadn’t, without reason or warning, disappeared completely. If Logan didn’t know better, he might believe it had done exactly that - but he did, in fact, know better, even if Remus’... _unique_ thought process bordered on absurdist more often than not. Still, sun or not or something even wilder, a chill permeated the air as he and the others made their way further through the forest, and Logan forced down a shiver more than once. 

The ground sloped gradually, almost subtle enough to miss, if you weren’t paying attention - Logan was paying very close attention and noticed it as soon as Patton began tripping more on the various natural debris scattered across the forest floor (he never was too coordinated, Logan thought with a small breath of a laugh to himself each time he had to steady the moral Side yet again). The treetops seemed to raise, tower over them even more as they descended. The murmur of a stream echoed somewhere within the dense forestry that flanked their dirt path, though something about it seemed rough, like bits of metal scraping against stone with the water’s current; Logan had the urge to find the stream and investigate the noise, but he had more common sense than to fall prey to Remus’ odd worldbuilding. To the path he’d stick, however dry and uninteresting it was. 

“My feet hurt,” Patton mumbled at his side, right before stumbling over yet another unidentifiable mass on the ground. 

Logan’s hands shot out to steady him as Deceit shot a dry look over his shoulder. “We’ve only been walking for an hour,” the snake-faced Side said with a roll of his mismatched eyes, duly ignoring both Logan and Virgil’s glares. He leveled his gaze at Patton and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Logan will give you a piggy-back ride.”

Patton pursed his lips, training his gaze on the ground as Logan helped him straighten up, though he didn’t let go of the logical Side’s hand immediately. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and let go. 

“It’s no problem, Patton. Don’t let him get you down.” Patton didn’t respond, just nodded; Logan sent Deceit a furtive glance in the corner of his eyes. “He’s just cranky.”

“I am _not-_!”

Patton - and Virgil, for that matter, though Logan wasn’t surprised - choked on a laugh as Deceit scoffed, the non-scaly side of his face turning an indignant pink and gloved hands curled into fists at his sides, making him look more petulant than intimidating. The grateful look that Patton gave Logan, blue eyes sparkling with delight once more behind his glasses, made something in Logan’s chest stutter. He’d have to look that up when they got back to the Mindscape - heart murmurs couldn’t be healthy, especially in times of stress such as these. 

After a brief pause for Deceit to stammer a rebuttal (which achieved approximately nothing, save for making Virgil snicker more), they continued their trek down the shadowed path. They’d mostly been quiet on the journey, a personal conversation occupying each of their thoughts, filling their heads and leaving no room for small talk; occasionally Logan heard Virgil muttering to himself, caught Roman’s name in his murmurs a few times, and Patton hummed the same section of some song whenever they’d been completely silent for too long - the only person who’d been as quiet as the logical Side was Deceit, who’s eyes seemed almost glazed over as he stared at nothing in particular while they walked, biting the inside of his cheek, lost in thought. Logan thought about asking what he was contemplating a few times, but he always waved the idea away in the end; Deceit would just as likely lie as he would jeer, and Logan wasn’t keen on being slighted at the moment. The crunching of leaves underfoot filled their silence instead.

A blur of motion in the trees to the left caught his eye - he didn’t look over, just kept his gaze trained on a bit of the path a few feet ahead, as he’d learned to do in their hour of navigating the forest. The blur slowed, then disappeared completely, faded as quickly as it appeared. He still didn’t look over. 

A different noise reached his ears suddenly. He glanced over, but Patton wasn’t humming, just looking around the forest idly as they walked; Logan stopped and listened closer, squinting at nothing as he picked apart what he was hearing. 

It was quick, continuous, but there was a spine-tingling discomfort to the sound, like- like metal scraping against stone. 

The stream’s sharp babble had indeed switch directions, coming from further down the path instead of the shroud of trees around them. It seemed stronger, louder, too - Logan had just begun to wonder what else he’d misinterpreted in his earlier observations when Virgil stopped in his tracks, ever vigilant. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked, voice hushed as he met Logan’s eyes. Deceit and Patton both paused to look between them. 

“What?” said Patton after a moment, looking around wildly before turning back to them, wringing his wrists. Logan resisted the inexplicable urge to take his hand. “Is something wrong?”

Virgil shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if he was afraid to commit to the answer, and bit his lip, glancing into the distance of the path. “Water,” he mumbled, mainly to himself. “A river.”

“River?” Logan repeated incredulously - he didn’t think it was _that_ loud. Then again, he’d thought it was far off to their left, too- 

A part of him - a much more reasonable and astute part of him, redundant as it sounded - broke through suddenly and whispered, _It was._

Of _course_. Why wouldn’t Remus move things around to make their journey harder? He’d manipulated the tree branches before revealing that unnatural spider creature - Logan wanted nothing more than to knock him off that tree branch when he heard Patton choke on a startled cry - and though moving (and enlarging) a stream was a bit more drastic, he had no doubt the farcical Side would go to such lengths, if only (or maybe specifically) to inconvenience them. 

A river, then. Alright. 

“Ahead,” Virgil nodded down the path; he curled his fingers into his palms, ready to bolt at any noise, when his arm brushed against the hilt at his side. He looked down with a start, staring at the sword as if he’d never seen it before (which he probably hadn’t) - without a word, he pulled it from its sheath and blinked at the blade, then looked back at Logan and Patton, a gleam in his eyes that said _Might as well_ as he gave a firm nod and turned to face the rest of the path. Deceit just rolled his eyes again, but Logan saw his gaze flicker to the sheath at his own waist. 

They continued forward, tension weighing down the already-heavy air as they listened for the current to rush louder in their ears. The chill in the forest seemed stronger here, heading into the valley; Logan was glad for his long-sleeved outfit, ridiculous and fantastical as it was, with silver embroidery on the edges of its sleeves and odd, capelet-like piece over the shirt. At least he maintained some semblance of warmth, if not dignity. 

(When he first saw the ensemble upon entering the Imagination, he had the inexplicable urge to roll his eyes and berate Roman for such unnecessary theatrics; his breathing hitched when he went to speak and saw the Duke in his peripheral instead, black and green and egregiously sparkly in place of Roman’s stately red and gold. Upon further inspection of his mage-esque outfit, Logan decided that anything Roman came up with would have been far more tasteful. At least Remus kept his dark blue palette. He still sorely missed his tie, though.) 

He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice the others had stopped, and ran directly into Patton.

The moral Side wrapped an arm around his waist with a startled yelp as he stumbled back, dimples whittling themselves into his cheeks as he grinned at Logan, delighted in having their roles reversed since they’d started their trek into the forest. Logan felt heat creep onto his face; he really needed to check a medical guide when they got back from this godforsaken journey. 

“Would you two stop gazing into each other’s eyes for ten seconds? We have a situation here.”

Logan sent a scathing glare in Deceit’s direction, but it withered when he saw the situation... being had. 

The river they’d heard stretched out before them now, frothing with rapids that crashed against jagged rocks in the current. Hundreds of glints hit Logan’s eyes despite the lack of sun; there were small pieces of _something_ in the water, something sharp and metallic, causing those discordant cries as they struck each other and the stones, rising from the river like drowned screams. Any life beneath the water’s surface was long since torn apart, and Logan knew, with a twinge of distaste in his chest, that they were no doubt the next intended victims. The beds were too far apart to leap across - he wasn’t sure he’d want to risk it, anyway - so they had to find another way to cross without braving the keen rapids. 

Virgil put his sword away as wordlessly as he’d unsheathed it. “How,” he said slowly, “are we supposed to cross _that_.”

“We need a bridge,” sighed Deceit; he’d managed to seem more inconvenienced than distressed by everything in their journey so far, and quite honestly, Logan envied it. He’d get a headache from stress at this rate.

“You don’t say?” Virgil snapped. “Now that you mention it, let me just pull out my patented Pocket Bridge, we’ll be across in a giffy thanks to your remarkable observation. Thank you, Deceit. What ever would we do without you.” 

“...Jesus _Christ_.”

“There’s no need to panic,” Logan broke in before Virgil could push Deceit into the river, placing a hand on the anxious Side’s armored shoulder. “Look, there’s a fallen tree further down.” It was gnarled at the root and rotting at its top end, but it looked sturdy enough in the center, at least from where they stood a few meters away; Virgil released a miniscule breath. “We’ll align it better on our end and use it as a bridge.”

Virgil nodded and crossed his arms, sobered enough to ignore Deceit as he scowled and stalked off toward the tree, though the anxious Side trailed after him. Logan went to follow, but a hand landed on his arm, tentative but firm. He glanced back to see a frown on Patton’s face. 

“Logan,” the moral Side said, quiet enough that Virgil and Deceit couldn’t hear. “Are you sure we can cross that?” He peeked around Logan, eyeing the tree, lips pressed tightly together as Virgil and Deceit grumbled something at each other and set to scooching the base to the left. “Just… is it safe, I mean?”

Logan looked between him and the tree, eyebrows furrowed. “I believe so.” Patton’s grip tightened on his arm, and Logan placed his hand on top of the moral Side’s as if on instinct. “It’s a wide trunk, Patton, I assure you; the chances of falling in are slim. I wouldn’t suggest it if there were a safer option.” 

Patton met his eyes again, frown fading slowly but surely into a small smile. “I know, I just wanted to make sure.” He straightened up, brightening as he shifted his hand to lace his fingers with Logan’s. “I trust you.”

Another wave of heat crept up Logan’s neck as he stared at the link. He felt a bit faint, especially as Patton started humming to himself and tugged the logical Side behind him as he headed to where Virgil and Deceit were moving the tree inch by inch - he really was going to have a health crisis in this place, what, between all the heart stammering and feverish blushes. 

(He was inexplicably disappointed when Patton let go of his hand to help move the tree.)

Working together - if you could call Virgil and Deceit’s bickering that - they were able to straighten the makeshift bridge in just a few minutes, though Patton had to stop and take a breather a few times when he saw odd little bugs skittering in and out of gaps in the tree’s trunk. The tree was, thankfully, wide enough to make a decent platform for walking across, wide enough that Logan was cautious only for the sake of vigilance. 

“So,” Deceit started slowly, arms crossed as they surveyed the bridge, “who’s going first?”

No one responded - Virgil and Patton were suddenly very interested in the pair of small burlap sacks hanging from Patton’s belt - until Deceit just rolled his eyes, brushing his cape back and stepping onto the tree, muttering acerbic commentary under his breath as he set to teetering across the river. 

“Flippin’ useless,” Logan heard the snake-faced Side say clearly, just before he was out of earshot over the raging rapids. 

He made it across, though, hopping deftly over the mud of the opposite bed and turning to stare at them, expectant and unimpressed. Logan examined the tree again, trying to figure out whether he or Patton should go next; he didn’t want to risk Patton going alone, but leaving Virgil for last would hardly end well-

“I’ll go,” Virgil said. Logan and Patton looked over, surprised, and Patton reached a hand out, but Virgil shook his head. “I’m fine. I can do this.” 

He set off without waiting for them to protest - Logan finally realized, as the anxious Side passed him, what Virgil had been muttering to himself this whole time: _For Roman._

He stepped onto the trunk, testing its strength with one foot before tentatively shuffling forward, arms spread wide like wings. He took it one step at a time, pausing in the middle; Logan saw his chest heaving with forced, deep breaths, watched him curls his fingers into his palms as he surged forward, eyes trained on a spot of the trunk a few feet ahead. He managed to make it just over halfway without incident-

A clang of metal against metal rose from the water suddenly, its screech licking the bridge like fire, and Virgil flinched. 

His foot caught on something, a stray piece of bark or some odd creature that had burst into his path, and he stumbled with its sudden stop, his complexion going ashen. His face pinched with effort as he struggled to regain his shaky balance - Logan noticed then just how high the froth of the rapids flew as they tumbled past rocks - and although three pairs of eyes were wide as spectators, the only screams ringing through the forest plummeted down from the ebony birds that combed the gray sky above their heads. Patton sucked in a breath and held it… 

The fear in Virgil’s eyes hardened to something sharp, something fierce. He pulled his arms in and pushed forward with a rush of steps that lifted above the debris of their mortified bridge, the tread of his boots nearly imperceptible against its blackened bark; his momentum carried him, sending him rolling off the tree at its end and onto safe ground on the other side of the river.

Patton cheered when Virgil stood and gave a thumbs up, face alight with a wide grin. 

“We don’t have all day!” Deceit called, mirroring the glare Virgil gave him afterwards, though Logan was sure he saw pride twinkle in his eyes when the anxious Side turned back to the pair on the other side of the water. 

Logan shook himself back to attention and steeled his focus on the bridge ahead. Deceit had a point: _Roman_ didn’t have all day, so they didn’t either.

“You go, Patton,” Logan insisted. Patton looked hurt for a split second, but it softened when the logical Side explained, “That way I’ll be behind you, in the possible event that you stumble.” 

“Oh, well…” He took a breath as if to steel himself. “Off I go, then!” he smiled, but Logan saw the nerves behind it. 

He offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile back. “You’ll be fine, Patton.”

Patton stared at him a moment, round eyes unreadable, and nodded, striding to the tree without another word. He stepped up onto it, arms wide like Virgil’s were, and Logan wasted no time boarding behind him. 

The river was somehow more intimidating from above. Logan could see the pieces surging below the water more clearly now - they were shreds of metal, scrap, as if someone had pulled the pieces together for construction and had promptly been swept away by a storm. That was an analogy made uncomfortably feasible when the foam cleared on the river’s surface, revealing shadows that looked far too similar to body parts for Logan’s comfort scattered across its floor; at least the water was shallow. (Not that it would matter much, should they fall in.) 

Patton let out a wheezing cry as a trail of beetles marched around from the underside of the trunk, their shiny shells painted a sickly green and legs too long for their bodies; they pulled themselves over the bark more than _crawled_ , really, reaching out a spindly limb and then another and another, digging into the crevices of the tree and scraping along the trunk like a dying man searching for a drop of water in the desert. Logan resisted the urge to step on them and put them out of their misery. He had to maintain focus on crossing, not fostering humanity for the inhuman (and technically unreal). 

He and Patton were halfway across when a voice breathed, just beside Logan’s ear, “Have you ever wondered what it feels like to drown?”

Logan stiffened, grabbing Patton’s waist instinctually when the moral Side glanced back with a confused frown and promptly shrieked, startling himself off balance. 

Remus burst out laughing from behind Logan, a grating sound that would have made Logan wince if he cared; the logical Side didn’t dare look back, but the murderous looks on Virgil and Deceit’s faces were enough to tell him that he didn’t have to. 

“Remus,” he greeted drily.

“I hear,” Remus continued through his laughter, ignoring the logical Side, “it feels like your windpipe is tearing!” He clapped, giddy, and Logan could see the stupid grin on his face without even looking at him. “Isn’t that an image?”

Patton gave a discomfited whine, and Virgil put a hand to his throat, face pinched with a grimace. Logan had half a mind to reel back and knock Remus into the river - he would, if he didn’t know Remus would take him down, too, and Patton with them. 

“Why don’t you do us a favor and find out?” he said instead, nudging Patton forward, hands still on the moral Side’s waist as they crept on. Deceit smothered a laugh, though Virgil still looked disturbed at the windpipe comment. 

Patton stumbled back again a moment later as Remus appeared in front of them - his face was split by a teeth-baring grin, hands on his hips. He looked right past the stammering moral Side to Logan.

“ _Logan_ ,” the Duke said, parodic awe seeping into his voice. “I didn’t know you had some sass in you!” 

He disappeared again and was back behind the logical Side, resting his arm casually on Logan’s shoulder and leaning in as if to share a secret with him. “Normally, I’d shove you in the river for disrespecting such a generous gamemaster as myself,” Patton glanced back at him with wide, horror-stricken eyes, “but frankly, I admire your moxie, so I’ll let it slide this time. Next time, though…” 

Back in front - Logan would get dizzy if he kept having to turn around and back again - as Remus sighed, a smile on his face that made Logan want to take a shower (or twelve). “You’ll have to make it up to me.” 

“Let them pass, Remus, for God’s sake,” Deceit interrupted, a single eyebrow raised. 

Remus sucked in a breath, forcing it out slowly before he glanced back at the snake-faced Side, who gave a look that reminded Logan of a snarky teenager. “I have no problem pushing _you_ in, my slithering sweetheart,” Remus snapped, “make no mistake.”

Deceit just rolled his eyes (again; Logan wasn’t sure how he didn’t have any vision problems at this point). 

Remus turned back to the pair still balanced haphazardly on the tree trunk, shaking his head as if to realign himself. He went quiet for a moment, staring at the water below, lost in thought; Patton glanced back at Logan with a frown, then startled when Remus let out a dramatic groan.

“Well, I’ve just been rudely interrupted and I don’t think I can simply carry on from where I was. My gusto is missing. I had a whole speech planned, a show prepared for you lot, and now...” He sighed. “How disappointing. Do watch your step there, Logan, I wouldn’t want you to get torn to shreds before you owe me that favor.” 

He winked and grinned, giving a fluttery wave right before he disappeared. 

Deceit stared at the now-empty spot as they all fell silent, his expression flat with annoyance, and shook his head. “Absolutely pointless.”

Logan forced a deep breath in and out of his lungs; pointless, indeed. Looking past Patton - he realized with a start that he had yet to let go of the moral Side’s waist, and in fact, Patton had placed his own hands on top of Logan’s, holding on like his life depended on it, which it somewhat did - he saw that they had only a few yards to go. 

He leaned forward and told Patton, “Keep going, we’re almost there.” 

Patton jumped again, and Logan could have sworn the moral Side’s face went bright pink; he waved the notion away as Patton started forward, tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrated on the steps. Logan smothered a smile - falling into a river full of razor-sharp scraps because he got distracted by such a simple gesture, endearing as it was, would be more than a bit out of character for him. He’d also be dead. That wasn’t exactly ideal. 

They finally reached the opposite side of the river; Patton looked ready to collapse with relief, a halfhearted, crooked smile on his face as he looked back at Logan (though it faded slightly when the logical Side finally let go of his waist). 

“I told you you’d be fine,” said Logan, offering the moral Side a small smile in return. Patton tilted his head to the side.

“I know,” he beamed. “I believed you.” 

“Jesus Christ- are they _always_ like this?” Deceit muttered to Virgil, who gave a halfhearted glare - Deceit made a face at him and straightened his cape with a sniff. 

Logan’s glare was far more than halfhearted. “Let’s get going,” he said, straightening up and wiping debris from his clothes. The dirt path picked up seamlessly on the other side of the rapids, and in the crux of the valley, they could no longer see just how far they had to the tower, to Roman - the sooner they continued, the better, especially if Remus was keen on interrupting them again. 

Virgil grimaced at the river as it gave a tumultuous crash again. “Please.”

Somehow - some way - the further they went past the river, the worse their surroundings got. 

What had been dead trees and discomforting shadows at the start of their journey quickly turned to drooping trunks dipped in the shadows themselves, shrouded in inky blackness that seemed to seep onto the shoddy dirt path and swirl around their feet. Thick tendrils covered in thorns spread from somewhere behind the tree line - they were odd, purple and misshapen and constantly shifting, reaching out like outstretched arms that grasped only at air as the travelers they grabbed at veered away again and again. 

The birds that had been circling in the sky for over an hour swooped now, razor-sharp beaks pointed toward the ground and oily wings spread wide. Logan, when the group paused momentarily to rest their feet, glanced up at the avians as they dove toward the treetops; where he expected to find beady, gleaming eyes, there was only empty space. He didn’t look up at them again. 

“It’s cold down here,” Virgil huffed, crossing his arms tighter over his chest as another chill swept toward them from beyond. He glanced down at his outfit, face drawn, and added quietly, almost to himself, “I miss my hoodie.” 

Deceit tugged the edges of his cloak around his arms and scoffed, “Send a formal complaint to Remus, I’m sure he’ll accommodate you.”

Ready for another argument, Logan was pleasantly surprised when Virgil just snorted. 

“Yeah,” the anxious Side said, “can you imagine? ‘Dear Remus,’” he started in a cheery voice that reminded Logan of a customer service representative, “‘as much as I’m enjoying the nightmarish landscape of your exceptional mind, the chainmail you provided me was below my usual standards. Please consider a replacement and send it as soon as possible, or I’ll have to review poorly, you understand.’”

“‘Love, Virgil,’” Deceit finished, and they both broke into a fit of laughter. 

Logan watched quietly, contentedly, as they continued to make fun of Remus together, an easy conversationalism passing between them like old friends. He looked over at the sound of a sigh.

Patton’s face was alight with a soft smile as he, too, watched the pair, fingers laced together in front of him and bouncing with his steps. He bobbed his head side to side with some melody - probably the one he kept humming under his breath intermittently - and shifted his shoulders, clearly fighting off a shiver in the skin-tingling breeze. He caught Logan’s eye and his smile brightened. 

“I like seeing them get along,” he whispered so only Logan could hear him, gaze trailing after Deceit and Virgil again. “I know they have a lot to figure out, but I can tell they still care about each other. Even if they argue a lot. Like Virgil does with Roman! I mean, it’s not… not exactly the same, but still.” He turned those round eyes, filled with curiosity and something else, something twinkling, on Logan, and tilted his head to the side. “You know when you care so much about someone that it doesn’t really matter what they’ve done? You’d do anything to help them when they need it?” 

Logan stared back, blinking a few times before he answered, slowly, “I suppose.” 

( _I don’t know,_ he should have said, should have been honest and told Patton that the thought of such intense emotion made his chest constrict a bit, because he didn’t quite know, or even understand, for that matter. But he didn’t say that, because the thought of admitting it made his chest constrict more than just a bit.) 

“I think that’s how they are,” Patton continued, oblivious to the tight-lipped conflict unfolding at his side. “They’re angry, and hurt, I think, but they’d do anything to save each other in the end.” 

Virgil said something in an overly-nasal voice - undoubtedly a bad impression of Remus - that made Deceit double over with a laugh, a raucous but jovial noise that filled the silence of the forest with something bright, unafraid against the looming tension of the trees and whatever hid behind them. (Deceit being a sunny force in the shadowed valley was not something Logan could say he expected, but the small, proud smile on Virgil’s face was enough for him to just breathe and accept it.) 

“I think you may be right,” Logan said gently; he didn’t want to be callous, ruin the moment as he was prone to doing, so he kept his voice low. The smallest of fond smiles still tugged at his lips. 

There was a moment of silence at his side - he glanced over and found Patton watching him, brow raised and eyes shining. 

“What?” the logical Side asked. 

Patton’s smile brightened as he shook his head, training his gaze back on the path ahead of them with a tiny sigh, though he didn’t seem troubled by it. “Nothing,” he said breezily. “Just thinkin’.”

Logan watched him for another second, but when the moral Side just began humming to himself again, he faced forward as well, his smile inexplicably brighter.

And then, just as he had countless other times today, he ran straight into someone. 

The someone was Virgil, who had, in Logan’s defense, stopped suddenly and directly in the middle of the path; the light laughter he’d shared with Deceit faded into the buzzing silence of the forest, and Logan realized, just as a canary far into the coal mine, Patton’s song had stopped. 

Remus sat in the middle of the path, farther down from the group he’d effectively blocked, criss-crossed with his hands resting on his knees and eyes closed, almost serenely, if only his face weren’t so naturally unhinged. He looked like he was meditating (though his posture was terrible). He didn’t open his eyes as the four Sides before him all slowed to a still, but his lips curled into a shadow of a smile.

“This is why we can never just enjoy things,” Deceit muttered sorely, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Remus peeked one shadowed eye open to look at them, and his face split into a wide grin as he opened his arms in welcome. “You’re all alive!” he cheered, “How wonderful! I’m so glad my little creek diversion didn’t trouble you all too much!” He glanced around at their disbelieving faces and gave a strident laugh. “Oh, I know, I know - you all know me too well! I really wanted to see what would happen if someone fell in. No matter, though; I can always imagine up some sucker to tumble in another day!

“That’s not what we’re here for, though,” he continued, closing his eyes again, wide smile remaining to paint a deranged expression across his face. “It’s time for another fun challenge! But first, let’s all relax - it’s been a stressful hour for all of us-” Deceit scoffed, “-so let’s take a moment to close our eyes and take a few deep breaths. No falling asleep on me, though, naptime isn’t until later.”

“...Is he making any sense to you guys?” Virgil muttered to Logan and Patton, eyebrows drawn together as he kept a wary eye on the Duke, still meditating on the ground.

Patton shook his head, but Logan just sighed. “Does he ever?”

“I said take a FEW _DEEP BREATHS_ ,” Remus repeated loudly, opening his eyes to a narrowed glare until everyone followed the instruction, shoulders rising and sinking with deliberate breathing. Remus smiled again. “Thank you. I can feel the tension slipping away already.”

“I had a lovely challenge prepared for one of you earlier,” he said after a moment of exhale-filled quiet. “The river was not merely an experiment for my own delight and amusement - although, believe me, I was thoroughly delighted and amused - but a test, a trial of bravery and balance.” He nodded his head side to side, an odd little dance to himself as he recalled the events. “But once I arrived, I saw something absotively inspiring, and I realized I had a better challenge to be given, if I could be a little more patient.” 

He peeked one eye open and said, “I am a very patient person,” then waited, daring someone to object. 

When the forest remained silent, he hummed happily, satisfied, and went back to monologuing, “So here I am! I’ve been preparing some things on the side, so unfortunately, Roman has been alone for quite a bit longer than usual and we’ll have to make this quick- you understand.” Virgil looked up instinctively, and though the tower was no longer visible over the trees, his face darkened. 

“Guys,” Patton said quietly; Deceit shushed him with a hiss, a warning to let Remus finish first, lest they all deal with the consequences. 

“I think you’ll all enjoy this one,” the Duke continued, nodding brightly. “A very popular one. I’m sure Roman would have requested it, if he could.” 

Virgil and Deceit both seemed suspicious at that, though Virgil looked more ready to claw Remus’ face off than ask questions. Logan just pressed his lips tightly together, watching Remus closely - he was zanier than usual, but somehow subdued, and it raised the hairs on the back of Logan’s neck. 

“ _Guys_ ,” Patton repeated. 

“It’s actually one of my personal favorite fairy tales,” Remus confided, eyebrows raised conspiratorially. “Disney went very family-friendly with it - no wonder my brother loves them - but the villain, oh, the villain! What a wonderful design choice! Black and green motif,” he sniffed with his nose in the air, “very well chosen.” 

“Logan,” Patton whispered, curling his fingers into the sleeve of Logan’s shirt - the logical Side glanced over at him quickly, trying to maintain watch on Remus, but his gaze fell back to the moral Side almost immediately. 

Patton looked dazed, and frightened, blinking fast as if struggling to clear his vision, and he swallowed with an audible click in his Adam’s apple. Logan mumbled his name, but Patton squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed again as his grip on Logan’s sleeve tightened.

“Roman preaches love in fairy tales,” Remus said evenly, “but to me, it’s about attention and priority. They never did get all the spinning wheels, did they?” 

And Logan finally noticed, noticed too late - Patton was on the outside edge of their cluster, and at the same level as his fingertips, reaching out from within the trees like a hand grasping for another to hold onto, was a tendril of purple thorns, curled just right to present a single spike for pricking - its own natural spindle. 

“I’m just…” Patton slurred, eyes still squeezed shut, “...’m gonna pass out now.”

With a startled cry from Virgil and a string of curses from Deceit, Patton crumpled - Logan dove to catch him before he hit the ground, arms around the moral Side’s waist, Patton’s head resting limply against the logical Side’s chest as Logan kneeled down beneath him. 

“Now, now, Patton, I told you no sleeping just yet!” Remus tsked, completely at ease as panic crashed over the eerie calm of the forest. “Now naptime is ruined for the rest of us!”

Deceit took a step back, looking slightly green. “Remus, this-”

“You already gave Patton a challenge!” Virgil screeched, eyes wide in horror as he stared at Patton’s motionless figure, which Logan still held in his arms as he felt for a pulse and tried to at least seem calm. The anxious Side made frantic gestures, signing something close to _spider_ before it devolved into curling his fingers into his palms and waving those around instead. “You said _one_ each!” 

Remus’ expression hadn’t moved from its nearly blank smile. “It’s not for Patton, silly Virgil, he’s _asleep_.” He paused, tilting his head to the side and tracing Patton’s calm, freckled features with those wild eyes. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like to die in your sleep? Do you think the dying can _feel_ that they’re dying while unconscious? Maybe it happens in a dream! Have you ever dreamt you’re falling-”

“Shut it, Remus,” Logan snapped, his voice thankfully steady despite the pounding in his chest and pressure behind his eyes, and the Duke pursed his lips. “You’d better explain yourself and explain _well_ right the Hell now, or-”

“Or what, Logan? You’ll quote Aristotle at me?” Remus gave a pitying laugh. “I’m quaking! Truly, you don’t think you can threaten me in my own land? My _domain_ , Logan?”

Logan stared as Remus kept guffawing. This whole ordeal, Roman missing and now Patton… _something_ , asleep or something worse that Logan would not humor, wouldn’t even consider, it was all Remus’ fault, moves in his own deranged game of chess, and he had the audacity to _laugh_ at Logan. To laugh at Logic. 

A familiar wave of heat flooded the logical Side’s senses, white-hot and blinding and oh-so-painful in his chest. The hand that had found Patton’s pulse fell to the dusty ground and curled around something hard, a rock or a piece of the unknown debris; it bit into his palm but he didn’t care, because the minute he picked it up, he launched it straight at Remus’ head. 

The forest fell deathly still as it collided with the Duke. It met his temple with enough force to knock him sideways, out of his meditating criss-cross position and onto his elbows, face inches away from the ground - Deceit and Virgil both sucked in a breath as Remus froze that way, turned away from them and haphazardly strewn across the path. He raised his head slowly, carefully; Logan felt nothing but vindication at the trickle of blood running down the Duke’s temple. Remus met the logical Side’s eyes with his own, wide and shocked. 

And he smiled. 

“Well done,” the Duke breathed, running his tongue across his front teeth with a short, delighted laugh. “Oh, very well done _indeed_ , Logan. I should have known you’d be fun - it’s always the one you least expect! Lashing out, not what I planned on, but oh-so- _very_ welcomed.” He pushed himself back up to a sitting position and cracked his neck. “Throwing things won’t wake up your little lovebug, mind you, but oh, my. I’m impressed.”

Logan glared, fiery still, and shifted Patton in his arms, cradling the moral Side’s head in the crook of his elbow. “What the Hell do you want?” he seethed, heart still racing in his chest because Patton was out and Remus was just unpredictable enough that Logan couldn’t know for certain that he’d be awake soon. 

Remus put his hands up innocently. “I’m only trying to _help_ you, Logan. No need to be irrational! You keep all those feelings locked away in here,” he tapped a finger to his own chest, twisting his face into a sharp excuse for a pout as the blood from his temple dripped onto his shoulder, “and that’s simply not healthy! You shouldn’t repress things, Logan. You shouldn’t hide them away and let them rot all alone. You have to let them be known, _Logan_ , and I-” 

He stopped suddenly, scowl faded and eyes curiously hazy. 

“And you- you can’t,” he started again, shaking his head a little, but his words came quieter and slower, as if his focus was slipping. He stared at Patton blankly. “Shouldn’t let them rot… alone, and…” He blinked. “All alone.” 

His eyes fell shut, just for a moment; when he opened them, they were shining, yet shallow, glazed over - he looked like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away, and who now just sat listlessly, waiting for it to be returned so he could continue playing. 

No one spoke, barely dared to breathe. It was Deceit who finally stepped forward and submitted to the risk of making his existence known in whatever limbo Remus had fallen into so suddenly; his face pinched with something unreadable as he crouched down in front of the Duke and started, voice remarkably soft, “Remus.” 

Remus didn’t look up at him, but the thorns stretching out beside the path pulled back into the trees. 

“You don’t need to do this,” Deceit continued quietly, a murmured insistence that somehow rose above the deafening silence of the forest, a swirl of sympathy and patience to soften the harsh, deadened edges of the trees that looked around them. 

He held a hand out, palm up, and waited - slowly, surely, Remus lifted his own and placed it on top, gaze flickering over the link like it was a long-lost relic he’d missed so dearly before his eyes fell shut again. Logan heard Virgil release a pent-up breath at his side, where the anxious Side had come to crouch; he had a hand curled into the pale blue fabric of Patton’s tunic, but the moral Side didn’t stir. 

“You’re not all alone.” Deceit laced their fingers together, and Remus took it in with a breath, small and brief. Logan pulled Patton closer as he watched - he was glad to see the wild-eyed craze of Remus’ character had slowed to a sluggish frown, but it didn’t change the fact that he was the reason Patton was asleep, and the fact that it hadn’t worn off yet made a painful lump form in Logan’s throat. “We’re willing to talk about this-”

Remus’ eyes flew open. 

In an instant, he’d jerked his hand from Deceit’s and shoved, pulling himself to a stand as the snake-faced Side tumbled back onto his elbows with a shocked yelp, eyes wide when he turned them up to the Duke looming over him. Remus stood straight; his gaze flashed with something dangerously sharp, ready to slice. 

“No,” he said, his voice so low Logan could barely hear it, though the word carried as a threat by itself. “No! Everyone’s always so _willing_ to talk when they’re in the rut they made for themselves,” he spat. He turned his eyes on each of them, gaze filled with terrifying clarity as his hands curled into fists. “ _Willing_ ,” he repeated as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m sure you’re willing. But you don’t get to offer diplo- dip-”

“Diplomacy,” Deceit finished bleakly. 

Remus stared down at him again, eyes swimming with a tidal crash of emotions, rough and indistinguishable like the metal scraps in the rapids. “It’s not your turn to be willing,” he exacted, turning back to face where Logan and Virgil sat with an unconscious Patton and forcing a wide, toothy smile onto his face, discordant with the glassy sheen of his eyes. “You’ve had years to talk. Now is my time with the microphone, and I’ve got quite a lot to say!” 

His gaze flickered to Patton, cradled in Logan’s arms. “Go on, then, and solve the problem, Logic. Beat your challenge at last, since I’ve been so rudely interrupted one too many times.” 

Logan blinked at him, swallowed past the lump in his throat, and looked down at Patton’s freckled face that was smooth with sleep. 

“I- don’t,” _know how_. He didn’t know. He didn’t know and admitting it made his chest tight, too tight to breathe - all the fire in his veins was quenched as he realized he might fail, right here and now and Patton of all people, and Remus was staring at him with that smug silence, much more observant and knowing than Logan could shield himself from.

“What’s wrong, Logan?” Remus grinned - there was something too sharp about it, something unhinged. “Come on, now, don’t let those icky feelings get in the way! You of all people know how bad that is!”

“You said not to repress-”

“I change my mind,” he interrupted with a twitch in his eye. “It’s your job, Logan. And now look at you - panicking over the embodiment of what you hate! Pathetic.”

It was a mixed message that flipped too quickly for Logan to follow - _don’t hide your feelings, Logan, now forget them, it’s your job, Logan_ \- and his heart beat too fast in his chest as he looked between Remus and Patton. He should agree with Remus, it was pathetic for him, Logic struggling to breathe and swallow, but the racing in his chest only tugged him to help Patton, open those bright eyes again, even if he was everything Logan didn’t understand, everything he feared. 

“A kiss,” Deceit gasped suddenly.

Remus’ gaze snapped to his with a sickening crack. “ _Shut it_ ,” he hissed, and Deceit reeled back, but Virgil perked up at Logan’s side. 

“What?” asked Logan, grimacing as his voice shook - his wrists were shaking, too, knuckles white as he held onto Patton like his life depended on it. 

“A kiss!” Virgil repeated. He turned to Logan with wide eyes, excited with revelation. “Spinning wheels, L - Sleeping Beauty! It’s Ro’s favorite, the one with Maleficent and the three fairies-”

“I know what it is! What does it have to do with this?” 

“Kiss him!” 

Logan blinked. “Kiss…”

“Patton!” 

“Oh.” A strange feeling bloomed in Logan’s chest, crawling up his throat as he comprehended the suggestion. The racing of his heart seemed to double, threatening to beat out of his chest, and he was almost ready to let it, if only to stop the torrent of feelings eating away at him then - pressure in his eyes and trembling in his wrists and too much in his mind, thoughts struggling to keep up with it all and rationalize it away. He wanted to stop. He needed to breathe. “ _Oh._ ”

Virgil’s relieved smile fell as he watched the logical Side. “Logan?”

“Lo- L! Look at me!” Logan looked, blinking to force back the heat pooling in his eyes; Virgil’s gaze was filled with firm determination. “Take a deep breath. I know you’re scared and that’s _okay_ , Lo - it sucks not to understand what you’re feeling, I get that!” He shifted, facing Logan head on as his voice started to shake, just a little. The black half-moons of shadow beneath his eyes had darkened. “But you’re the most capable person I know, do you hear me? You can do this. You’ll be okay, I promise.” His eyes had tears in them, too, Logan realized as the first slipped down his own face; he was crying, but so was Virgil. He let a breath fall to his lungs and out again. Virgil gave him a tiny smile. “Everything will be okay.” 

Logan smiled, albeit shakily, at the callback to his own words, which Virgil had clearly held onto.

He took another breath and looked down again - Patton’s freckles were dark in the shadows of the forest, and though Logan expected to find a reflection of the sky and its ebony hunters in his round glasses, they were free of any such gleam, a clear window to his closed eyes. He was still warm despite the chill when Logan cupped his face with his free hand. 

_You know when you care so much about someone… you’d do anything to help them when they need it?_

He leaned down and pressed their lips together. 

Everything felt silent at once, if only for a moment - Patton smelled like vanilla and peppermint candy, which Logan didn’t know he already knew - as the chaos in his mind and body slowed to a still, a sense of calm, of comfort and home, filling him instead. He felt the ache of dissipating tension in his wrists as his eyes fell shut. 

And when he opened them again, when the world inside and outside was quiet, clear blue eyes stared back at him. 

Patton glanced around as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, startling when Logan gave a shocked, delighted laugh. He stared at the logical Side, gaze flickering to his lips and back up as he gave a tiny, albeit confused, smile. “Looooogan,” the moral Side started slowly, stifling a small laugh as Logan wrapped him in a hug. “Oh! Oh, this is nice. Nevermind, just…” He returned the embrace, burying his face in Logan’s shoulder. “We can just do this for a minute.”

“Where did Remus go?”

Logan and Patton looked up at Virgil’s voice - his eyes scanned the clearance, and when Logan followed suit, he found it a reasonable question, considering the wild-eyed duke was nowhere to be seen. Deceit was still crouched on the ground where Remus had pushed him, lips pressed tightly together as three pairs of eyes landed on him. 

“He just… disappeared,” he forced out, as if the confession pained him, and finally pushed himself to a sitting position, face pinched with an unreadable expression. “When Virgil was talking. He just turned on his heel and left.” 

The dirt path had a patch of sickly gray where Remus had sat, now empty and pallid against the rest of the ground. Logan didn’t enjoy Remus’ company - or anything in the realm of positive feelings at all, actually - but the scene felt hollow without his black and grey ensemble to meld with the shadows now; it was as if he’d made himself a part of a picture and torn his presence away suddenly, leaving a jagged tear that made a pit of dread form in Logan’s stomach. Silent exits seemed like a bad omen from the histrionic Side. 

The trees moaned with a sudden chill that swept toward them, now bitter and carrying the sure scent of rain. It bit at their faces, seeped through their clothes and pulled at their hair, as if trying to push them back toward where they started, prodding and prickling until it broke them at last. 

Logan refused to shiver.


	5. Three Musketeers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while since the last chapter, but we're in the homestretch!! ;)

The bird… _things_ had been watching him for some time now. 

Well, ‘watching’ was a choice term, considering they didn’t seem to have eyes - Roman held back a wince as the one perched on the window ledge turned its head to him with a snap - but empty sockets, and they stared from their vantage points with sightless vigilance, searing into him when those hollows found his gaze. Were they vultures? They had the same hunched posture, an air of hunger and macabre, but their feathers glinted green under the dim light of the storm clouds outside the tower, an ebony coat dipped in acid. If they were vultures, Roman wasn’t eager to see what they scavenged.

There had only been a few when he’d first arrived, shadows in the distant sky, but Remus’ twisted landscape seemed to be crawling with them now. They passed by the window in the dozens, swarming under the darkening sky in black masses, swooping to the treetops at odd intervals and pausing every so often to sit on the window ledge and tilt their grotesque heads at Roman. He couldn’t tell if they knew he was there; he didn’t dare move in their presence, ten feet away yet still too close to their hooked, gleaming beaks. 

It’s not like he actually had a choice to move, anyway. His wrists were red, scratched raw by now, though he had stopped struggling against the ropes some time ago, and his breathing was reduced to shallow bursts of air between the rope at his chest and the cloth in his mouth. He didn’t see the point of restraints - where would he go, hundreds of feet from the ground with no exit but a hole in the wall? He didn’t even have his sword. He had no escape, no fighting chance, no certainty that someone was actually coming for him, not even a hope of negotiation at this point. 

Remus had reappeared earlier, after nearly an hour of being gone, and promptly ignored Roman’s muffled attempt at a pleaded treaty, face shadowed and drawn as he sent a scathing glare at the prince before turning to the window and shooing away one of the horrid birds with a sharp wave of his hand. Roman bit hard on his gag to keep in a surprised cry as Remus drew his sword and threw it across the room without turning from the window, putting his head in his hands and curling his fists into his hair, silvery tufts trapped in his white-knuckled grip; the duke didn’t say a word, and it terrified Roman more than the creatures and tower and storm put together. 

He wanted to reach out to him. It was an uncharacteristic urge - that’s what he remarked to himself, a blatant lie - but it was there, the whim to reach out and pull Remus’ hands into his own and hold on for dear life, and there was a choked feeling in his chest that accompanied it; he wanted to see his brother’s eyes, and more, he wanted to see that juvenile joy, his chaotic fervor, sparkling in them instead of the coldness that leeched their color now. 

As if on cue, Remus turned from where he stood hunched before the window, turning that murky gaze on Roman, his mouth a taut line. They stared at each other in silence - again, not that Roman had a choice - as Remus studied him.

It was only with a much-too-close peal of thunder that the duke tore his eyes from his brother and turned back to the window. Roman couldn’t help but feel he’d failed some unspoken test, and for the millionth time today, he wanted nothing more than to apologize, though he didn’t really know what he was apologizing for anymore. Everything, maybe. Everything he’d done to make Remus this way. It was his fault - he knew it, he’d mulled it over countless times in this godforsaken tower - but there was nothing he could say, even if he could speak now, that could fix it. 

Remus looked at the sky - the dark clouds had finally gathered above them, letting loose the first drops of rain - and disappeared, and a bird took his place once more. 

If _one_ more bird nosedived at him, Deceit was going to start skewering them. 

They were nuisances while he walked, with their horrid screeches and ugly, eyeless faces (“Ugly,” he muttered aloud to himself as one perched on a branch near his head and stretched its gnarled neck down toward him), but now, as he and the others sat on the path to rest their feet - Virgil had twisted his ankle on a spare piece of debris (they were bones; Deceit knew they knew that, but they seemed insistent on calling them debris, so he humored them) and Patton insisted they all take a break before they tire themselves out completely, anyway - the vulturous creatures seemed to find glee in diving at their heads before turning up at the last moment and cackling as they soared back into the sky. The first signs of rain rolling in overhead did nothing to deter them, either. At least he had more composure than the others; every time those strident calls pierced the air again, Virgil jumped, eyes wide, and Patton looked ready to pass out again. 

The only other Side who didn’t seem fazed was, unsurprisingly, Logan. He was an odd character, Deceit decided as he watched the logical Side crouch down and sift through the path’s various pieces of bone (“debris”) and pebbles; he was a bit uptight, but he was by far the most levelheaded and tolerable of the Light Sides, and Deceit quite liked his little intellectual rambles. (At least _one_ of them had a brain cell.) There was, of course, the whole issue with “I dOn’T hAvE fEeLiNgS,” but everyone has a character flaw, he supposed. Besides, Logan’s grasp of the other Sides’ feelings far outweighed the misunderstanding of his own; he alone was able to calm Virgil’s anxieties and rein in Patton’s hysterics as they traveled through Remus’ nightmare-scape, so perhaps Deceit respected him on some level, if only for making this godforsaken trip a little quieter. 

A noise from the trees caught his attention suddenly, tearing him from his character analysis (which was a very normal activity to preoccupy oneself with and was not weird at all when he thought about it a moment later). He turned, expecting to find another bird leering at him from the shadows, but the gaps in the trees were empty of anything but darkness. He leaned forward, peering past knotted trunks-

“You shouldn’t look in there.”

Deceit practically jumped out of his skin - which he always feared was an actual possibility, given the whole… snake thing - and whipped around to face the interruption, a scowl ready on his face. It faded a bit when he saw who it was. 

Logan had settled on the path beside him, hands in his lap and posture ridiculously straight despite his criss-cross position, mouth scrunched to the side while he waited for Deceit to recover from the startle. He raised one unimpressed eyebrow as the snake-faced Side took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Why not?” Deceit said after a moment. 

“You haven’t seen it yet?”

“Seen what?” he all but snapped, eyeing Logan’s pursed expression as the logical Side’s gaze flickered to the forest behind him and back to the ground. Deceit could practically see the gears whirring in his head. 

Finally, Logan nodded toward the trees and waited for Deceit to look, face set with solemnity as the snake-faced Side did just that. 

There was nothing, just as Deceit had seen a few moments ago, just shadows and tree limbs and weird, disembodied noises. He waited, watched, but his eyes started to strain against the darkness - he blinked hard and sighed again, debating whether or not Logan was actually crazy and Deceit just wildly misjudged him. Just as he went to turn back and make some biting remark that would shoo the logical Side back to where Patton was examining Virgil’s twisted ankle, Logan murmured, “There.” 

Deceit blinked, and he saw it. 

It was murky at first - it was, itself, made of shadows, nearly indistinguishable from the darker ones surrounding it - but as Deceit focused on it, it became clearer: it was a human figure, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around itself, head hung ever-so-slightly; a few feet away were more figures with their backs turned to the first, though they turned at odd intervals to jeer, jabbing accusing fingers at the solitary figure, who didn’t react but to curl its arms tighter. They had no faces, no distinctive features, and yet a painful ache swallowed Deceit as he watched, forcing his eyebrows to furrow as he blinked away the stinging pressure in his eyes. No distinctive features, but the lonely figure was wearing his hat. 

“What _is_ that?” he said quietly without tearing his eyes from the scene.

Logan broke his own clouded gaze from the forest to glance at Deceit, examining his drawn expression with grim curiosity. “I’m not sure what I’d call it,” he started, “but it appears to be some reenactment of insecurities, or fears, perhaps. Remus has a talent for digging up repressed thoughts.” He went silent, staring into the trees again, before turning away and rolling his shoulders with a corrective cough. “I imagine it’s altered for each viewer.” 

“It’s Remus.”

“What?”

With a thick swallow, Deceit pointed at the scene - it morphed before his eyes, the shadow of his hat melting away, replaced by wisps of wild hair, the figure’s shoulders decorated with puffed sleeves that fanned out at the wrists still grasping its sides in a desperate self-hug. It was Remus, clear as day; the figures jeering at him grew more aggressive as Deceit and Logan watched, pointing and throwing their heads back with laughter as he shrunk back. 

Logan gave a small, flabbergasted “ _Oh_.” 

“Interesting,” the logical side murmured, leaning forward and squinting into the forest to try and see it better. “Perhaps Remus is _too_ good at digging up repressed thoughts.” He and Deceit fell quiet as the shadow-people slowly faded into the darkness, then melted back into their original forms, and they both looked away as the scene started over again. 

“Well,” Deceit broke the silence, straightening his spine. 

But Logan didn’t respond; he just stared at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, dark bangs spilling onto his forehead as he pressed his lips together tightly. He did that a lot, Deceit noticed - went silent and contemplated, let his thoughts sit and develop before he spoke, like he was afraid of giving anything half-baked. So Deceit waited. 

Sure enough, the logical Side finally raised his head, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular as he said, “Remus is worsening.” 

“I’ve noticed.”

“I assumed you had. Has he been troubled before this excursion?”

Deceit snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a tree trunk. “He’s always troubled, Logan.”

“Fair point.” He leveled a thoughtful look at Deceit. “May I ask you something?” 

“I reserve the right not to answer, but go ahead.” 

“Why did you really come here with us?”

Deceit’s easy smirk fell as he bristled - he’d given a whole speech about that, all for naught, apparently. “I’ve told you why.”

“And I believe you; I was just wondering if there was another reason.”

They watched each other for a moment - Logan would be killer in a staring contest - until Deceit huffed an irritated sigh and sank further down against the tree, resigning himself to the truth. Stupid Logic. “I was worried about Remus.”

Logan just raised his eyebrows and waited for him to continue.

“He doesn’t hate Roman, you know,” the snake-faced Side said, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. “He can be excessively… _vile_ toward him, but he’s not cruel - not like this, I mean. Something’s wrong with him right now. He’s hurt.” Deceit’s thoughts flashed back to Remus’ face in the Otherscape living room, the flicker of dejection and pain in his eyes before they went dark, and the ache in Deceit’s chest returned. “He’s just taking it out on the first person he can think to blame.” 

He glanced across the path at where Patton was narrating some story with bright gestures while Virgil listened with a small smile, then at Logan, who watched him with careful eyes. 

“I know Remus is an anomaly you all would rather ignore,” he said lowly, “but he’s my friend. I want him and Roman both to be okay.” 

He didn’t know what he expected Logan’s response to be. A sigh, maybe, irritated and dismissive. Maybe he’d yell; he had quite a temper at times- or maybe he’d just purse his lips and go back to sit beside Patton, act like their conversation never happened. 

Or maybe he’d nod sagely and say, in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Well, then we’ll do our best to make sure they are.”

Deceit met his eyes, saw a matter-of-fact sincerity sparkling in them. It struck him suddenly that dealing with Virgil and Patton and Roman all the time mandated a sort of empathy; how odd, then, that Logan never seemed to boast his wide scope of interpersonality. Maybe he was more than just tolerable. 

He couldn’t think of a response that seemed adequate for the promise, so he just nodded, and just like Deceit suspected he would, Logan understood it. 

Roman almost - _almost_ \- wished the birds had stayed instead of the storm. 

The rain had been gentle at first, sprinkling from the charcoal clouds overhead, but it quickly turned to something heavier, one step short of a downpour, effectively cleansing the high air of the vultures (which Roman had hesitantly decided to label them). The rain itself wasn’t bad; it actually reminded him of gloomy afternoons in the living room, watching Disney with Virgil or baking with Patton or brainstorming with Logan while a deluge of rain danced outside the window. It had, at first, brought a welcome sense of comfort and familiarity to him. But then it fell harder, and the distant thunder got much, much less distant, and it was the certainty that this wasn’t the worst of the storm that finally got to him. 

He tried distracting himself. Before, right after Remus brought him here and disappeared for the first time, Roman had sung to himself, Disney and Broadway and any and all lyrics that popped into his head; he couldn’t exactly do that now - Remus had tossed a rock over his shoulder at him when Roman started humming idly, which a small cut on his cheekbone now attested to - so he just closed his eyes, tried to breathe deeply, and thought. 

He thought about his side of the Imagination. He thought of the rolling hills, the quaint villages and quainter villagers, the bright-eyed forest creatures and colorful plants and clear blue skies. He tried to remember every detail of the pond he liked to sit by after difficult days: the fuzzy patches of moss on its rocky perimeter, the charming little koi fish that darted below its surface, the cool kiss of a breeze that seemed to wrap him in a hug and brush his hair from his face and dance across his skin, the contentedness of looking down into the water and seeing his reflection, rippling and tinted blue but undeniably him and no one else. 

He thought, reluctantly, of Creativity - not him or Remus, but _Him_ , the whole to their halves, the them before they were them. It wasn’t the first time a distant image of the Side he’d never truly known crossed his mind. He’d stayed awake countless nights trying to remember what it was like to be Him - did he have a name? Had he chosen one before being torn in two? Roman didn’t know, but the mystery just made the ethereal image of Him in his mind all the more looming, commanding and infinitely unreal - all in vain; Roman was never Creativity, the actual Creativity, had never been a latent facet of Him just waiting to surface. He had no memories of His days. Did the other Sides miss Him? Surely Virgil hadn’t been around yet, but Patton and Logan, maybe even Deceit, they knew Him, befriended and loved and grew up with Him - did they ever reminisce? Had they hated Remus and Roman when they replaced the Creativity they’d known until then? Roman didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

He thought of the others then. He thought of Patton’s bubbly encouragements, his sunshine smiles and grounding hugs; he thought of Logan and his stern sincerity, the subtle glints of pride in his eyes when he solved a problem, his wit and curiosity and ridiculous hidden talents; he thought, oddly - or maybe it wasn’t so oddly - of Deceit, with his pristine clothing and demeanor and speeches, his enthusiastic love for theatre and not-so-hidden love for philosophy and history, the way he side-eyed the others when they laughed or hugged or huddled together for whatever reason. He thought of the old days with Remus, when they’d hang upside down from the top railing of their bunk beds and talk about anything and everything, how Remus would only get _angry_ -angry when one of the other Sides hurt Roman’s feelings or belittled his ideas, when Roman would play a dashing prince on his way to battle the fearsome and legendary Dragon-Witch Remus and they’d duel with crudely-made cardboard rapiers, and sometimes Roman would emerge victorious on the ‘carcass of the fallen beast’ that was just Remus’ dragon onesie and sometimes the paper cut-out villagers would lament the tragic death of their hero as the Dragon-Witch held his tissue paper crown high in the air like a trophy. (It was a gutting pain that followed that particular train of thought, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop riding it.)

He thought, quite a lot, of Virgil. Maybe because it’d been the anxious Side he had hoped so dearly would hear his and Remus’ commotion outside his door - it was difficult to believe that had only been this afternoon - or maybe because he just desperately wanted a sign, a reminder, that everything would be okay, and for some reason, Virgil was, in Roman’s head, a sign of home and comfort and contentment. He thought about their debates over breakfast, tossing blueberries at each other and laughing to themselves when Patton went into Dad Mode about it, and he thought about their Disney marathons when neither of them could sleep and they found each other shuffling like zombies through the kitchen or living room or hallways; he thought about the furrowed-brow scrutiny of Virgil’s, the concerned frowns he masked with annoyance when Roman didn’t eat or drink or sleep enough during creative binges; he thought about the way Virgil could make hot cocoa without even opening his eyes, practiced enough to do it in his sleep as he shuffled around the kitchen at three in the morning with his eyelids drifting shut; he thought of the chicken-scratch annotations in Virgil’s copy of Grimm Fairy tales, from the remarks about characters and plots to the dates scribbled beside passages, days Virgil had been spiralling and found reprieve in a certain line or paragraph - he always insisted on borrowing Roman’s copy for some reason, gave some mumbled excuse about it being in better condition, and a part of Roman hoped it was actually because the anxious Side liked the doodles and commentary he wrote in the margins, saw similarities in their interpretations of the stories and the solace they found in them. 

He thought of Virgil, and he felt a little better. 

“It’s getting darker.”

Virgil gave a low hum in reply, not bothering to follow Deceit’s gaze to the sky as he tugged at the edges of his chainmail sleeves. “You don’t say, Sherlock.”

Deceit sent him a dry scowl. “Logan,” he said pointedly, shoving the Virgil out of the way and smothering a grin when the anxious Side just gave an amused snort, “how long have we been walking?”

“Total, or since our last stop?” 

“Total.”

“Four hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-six seconds.” 

Deceit stopped swatting Virgil’s hand away from where it was tugging at his cape to annoy him and blinked at the logical Side. “You- I forgot you could do that.”

“What?”

“Count down to the second.” His gaze flitted to where Logan and Patton’s fingers were laced together between them, Patton swinging their hands through the air as he whistled a falsely jaunty tune off-key. “Full of surprises, I suppose.”

He looked back up to the sky without waiting for response or comment and frowned, eyes scanning the clouds, still dotted with swooping birds and their hoarse calls. The rain clouds had gathered over their heads now, so it was only a matter of time until the downpour started; he could already see it falling around the tower (which was startlingly and satisfyingly close now). The forest was bad enough on its own - he really didn’t want to trek through it in a storm. Four hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-six seconds of walking. They wouldn’t be able to manage an hour more without fighting a torrent. 

“How long since your challenge?” Virgil asked suddenly, his playful smile faded to a frown as his steps slowed, brows furrowed in thought. His eyeshadow had steadily darkened during their trip through the forest, nearly pitch black now. 

Logan blinked. “Two hours, fifty-four minutes, and,” he paused, scanning the ground for a moment, “forty seconds. Why?”

“He’ll be back soon, then,” Deceit muttered. “It’s been too long without chaos.” 

“My thoughts exactly, Nagini.”

Deceit nearly jumped at the voice in his ear, though his body seemed calmer than his thoughts and stood rooted to his spot as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, careful breath. The others had gone silent in an instant, Virgil falling out of step at his side, and it was with a methodical pivot that the snake-faced Side turned to face the problem. 

Remus didn’t grin as their eyes met. There was no wild glint in his gaze, no goofy position on a tree branch or yoga pose in the middle of the path, no convoluted introduction. He just stood silently as Deceit studied him, hands hanging loosely at his sides. 

“Remus,” Deceit greeted evenly after a moment. 

Remus tilted his head to the side, just a bit, a shadow of a smile coloring his face as his eyes inched from Deceit’s face to his peripheral, catching a glimpse of the wary faces over his shoulder. “It’s time.” 

Virgil sucked in a breath from behind Remus, shuffling to Patton’s side as the moral Side gently grabbed his elbow and tugged him close, his freckled face set with determination. Deceit wanted to join them, form a united front for Remus to face, but the duke was standing between him and the others as they huddled together. He straightened his spine and raised his chin instead. “Time for what?”

“Your challenges, dummy.”

“Plural?”

Remus rolled his eyes - for a second, Deceit flashed back to the many times the duke had done the same thing with an air of fondness, exasperated when his wild plans were rationalized away for the millionth time. “Not just yours,” he huffed. “You’re not that special. I thought I’d be efficient and present your challenge and Virgie’s at the same time.” 

Virgil’s face went ghostly pale. He looked over Remus’ shoulder to meet Deceit’s gaze, panic and uncertainty swimming in his eyes, which flickered back to their natural mismatchedness for just a moment, purple and green swirling together in Deceit’s mind with memories of late nights prolonged by nightmares and made-up songs to distract from the anxiety of new people and pricked fingertips from sewing lessons and a thousand more things all at once. 

_Remus has a talent for digging up repressed thoughts._

Damn it all. 

“Alright, then,” he said smoothly, opening his arms in a _Let’s have it, then_ gesture, sending Virgil what he hoped was a subtle and reassuring glance. “The sooner we get started, the better.”

Remus’ deadpan expression didn’t shift. “First,” he turned, pointing a finger at Patton and Logan, who tugged Virgil behind them and stared the duke down with a fire that would have genuinely scared Deceit if he was on the receiving end, though Remus seemed unfazed. “You two, scram.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“Scram,” Remus repeated, drawing out each letter and waving a hand for them to get lost. “Go back the way you came. Make out in the forest. Go back to your humble little abode for all I care.” A door appeared behind Patton, white and swimming with black, murky tendrils - the exit back into the Mindscape. “Just get out.”

Logan and Patton shared a confused glance, clearly suspecting a trick, but when they didn’t move, Remus groaned; it echoed up the valley, a discordant sound that rang uncomfortably long after he stopped. 

“Go,” he spat, “or I’ll shove you in the river like I meant to in the first place.”

“Just go,” Virgil whispered to them, nudging them gently toward the door despite Patton’s stuttered protests. “We’ll be fine, I promise. Just go, and be ready for us when we get back, okay?”

Patton looked ready to say no again, but at last, he just pressed his lips together and wrapped Virgil in a hug, whispering something to him before pulling away with teary eyes. He and Logan sent Deceit a look at the same time - Patton’s was one of concern, aching for a promise that he’d make it out alright, but Logan’s expression was hard, a look of stony determination that didn’t ask for anything but told Deceit to do what he needed to. Deceit just nodded to both of them. 

Logan took a deep breath and muttered something to Virgil, something the anxious Side nodded quickly to, and turned to the door, pushing it open and letting Patton step through before he sent Remus one last steely look. The duke replied with a bright grin and fluttering wave; it disappeared as soon as the door closed behind them. 

“Now,” he said briskly, turning his cold eyes on Virgil and Deceit and offering a joyless smile. “Here we are! How touching, isn’t it - the three amigos, back together again.” He looked at Virgil and shook his head. “We’d always be together if _someone_ didn’t defect, y’know-”

“What are we doing, Remus?” Deceit interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest.

Remus’ gaze snapped to him. “Always one to take charge, aren’t you, Dee? Always the mother hen, keeping her little chicks in line. Well, I’ll tell you what you’re doing, if you’d let me get to it.” 

They were draped in silence as Remus raised his chin petulantly, lips pushed out in a pout, and Virgil and Deceit watched him, waiting. Finally, Deceit sighed. “Please continue, Remus. I’m dying to hear your plans.”

Remus grinned. “Of course you are.” He whirled to face Virgil better, either missing or ignoring how the anxious Side flinched, and looked him up and down, examining his outfit with a contemplative scowl. “I will never understand my brother’s fascination with knights, truly. He’s such a hopeless romantic.” He wrinkled his nose. “Makes me sick.” 

Virgil raised a confused eyebrow. 

“What, Virgil?” Remus said blankly. “Have you not realized it this entire time? You’re his _knight in shining armor_ ,” he mocked in a grating falsetto, face painted with a plastic smile that dropped a mere second later. “You want your challenge? Go save your little prince. Finish his adorable fairy tale fantasy and sign it off with Happily Ever After, then go to his side of the Imagination and honeymoon on a rainbow or something. Like I care.” He jerked his head to the tower - it was just past a gap in the trees when Deceit looked up through the beginning of the rainfall, found it looming over them, and he could just see a hole high up in the stone wall. 

Virgil stared at the tower with wide eyes. There were no stairs, no door to enter or rope to climb; the only thing he had to make it to the window were jagged stone outcrops, painful yet natural footholds. Deceit desperately hoped beyond hope that Virgil was no longer afraid of heights. 

“Remus,” the snake-faced Side started to chide, or plead, he hadn’t decided yet, when Virgil broke in.

“Fine,” he snapped. His face darkened with determination as he eyed the tower again, and Deceit could practically see the mantra in his eyes, _For Roman_ playing on repeat in his head as his hands curled into fists. He wrists were shaking - Deceit realized, after a burst of panic, that it wasn’t fear, it was _adrenaline_ , fight-or-flight no longer a detriment but a benefit for the anxious Side at last - and he leveled his gaze on Remus with a dangerous glint. “I hope you’ve had your fun, Remus, but the game’s over.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and headed for the tower. 

Remus and Deceit watched him walk off in silence - Deceit felt equal measures pride and nervousness swell in his chest for the anxious Side, and he wanted to grab his arm before he was out of sight, tell him to call for him if he needed it, like he used to when Virgil was just thought into existence and restless in his novelty, when they looked out for each other. He kept his hands at his sides and prayed for the first time in years. 

“Do you think he’s happier there?” Remus said suddenly, eyes trained on Virgil’s fading figure. “Do you think it’s better with the Light Sides?”

Deceit frowned at him, and when Remus looked over, the duke gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, I suppose you’ll know yourself soon enough.”

Deceit’s frown just deepened. “I’m not going to leave you, Remus.” 

The look in Remus’ eyes at that was a storm darker than the one overhead, lightning glinting in his gaze as he raised his head once more. “Liars go to Hell, Dee,” he said grimly, placing a hand on his hip and grasping the hilt that appeared in his palm a second later. 

He pulled, unsheathing a thin, greenish rapier, scored and stained - Deceit realized, with a sinking feeling in his chest that carried his heart down, down, down, that the sheath at his own side had housed a golden rapier this whole time. 

“You said you were willing to talk,” Remus said, pressing the tip of his sword to Deceit’s chest, just hard enough to leave an indent in the leather. “So let’s talk.”

“I’m not going to fight you-”

But Remus was already swinging, his face shadowed as the rain began to fall harder around them - Deceit just managed to duck below the first slice of the duke’s sword, scrambling back as he fumbled to pull his own rapier from its sheath, just to block the thrusting attacks Remus poured down on him. He finally wrangled it free from his belt and held it up, right on time to block a swing at his face. 

Remus’ face twisted with something angry as he leapt back. He didn’t wait for Deceit to get up before he was back on his offense, aiming now for the snake-faced Side’s hand, which he’d braced against the ground. Deceit pulled it back at the last second as he glanced wildly around the forest - he refused to fight Remus, but he couldn’t block him forever, he needed to get to a place where he could talk to the duke without being in stabbing range- 

Another thrust at his shoulder, so the running was a no-go. Talking while blocking would have to do. 

“Remus,” he started, voice shaking as he stumbled to the side to avoid a hit to his knee, “I know you’re hurt, and you-” _Jesus_ , Remus was fast, “You’re angry, I _understand_! But this solves nothing!” 

He finally managed to grab a low-hanging tree branch and haul himself up, ducking a second later as Remus thrusted his sword forward at his elbow - the blade got stuck in the trunk, so Deceit sprinted behind the duke and took the opportunity to start talking before he freed his blade. 

“I know you’ve been hurt these last few years, more than anyone deserves, and I’m sorry - I don’t know if I’ve made it worse, I don’t care if I haven’t, I’m _sorry_ , Remus!” He winced as Remus pulled hard at his rapier, knuckles white. “You’ve never deserved punishment or repression just for being what you are- _who_ you are-”

“Shut up,” Remus spat, yanking his sword from its wooden prison and whirling to face Deceit again. 

“But no wound can ever be healed if you keep rubbing salt in it yourself-” 

“Shut _up_.” Another advancement, a jab at his left arm, and Deceit was on the ground again, scrambling backward across the uneven forest floor.

“This isn’t you, Remus! This isn’t you and I know it and if you just listen, we can work things out with the others, I promise, and I know it doesn’t make up for everything you’ve gone through, but-”

“Shut _up_!” 

And the forest fell silent. 

The rain fell steadily, heavily, painting the dirt path a muddy gray around them as it forced its way through the treetops. The birds and their horrid calls disappeared, letting the rain sing its own dirge in the air; it was loud, loud enough with the ringing in his ears that Deceit couldn’t hear his own gasp, but even the raindrops couldn’t wash away the red trails that fell from his stomach.

Remus stared down at him. His eyes were almost wide, eyebrows furrowed as he watched the blood fall to the forest floor and stain it a startling crimson. He followed his line of sight from the wound and found the tip of his sword painted the same red. 

“Oh,” he whispered. 

He glanced between the rapier and Deceit’s pale face, eyes widening and turning glassy. “Oh,” he repeated, quieter, something in his voice breaking, “no. No, no, no.”

He dropped to his knees and crawled to Deceit’s side, hovering his hands over the stab wound. His chest rose and fell with shallow bursts, wild as his gaze as it flitted over the red still spilling over Deceit’s clothes, and he met Deceit’s eyes as tears spilled over his face. “I’m sorry,” he forced out in a choked breath, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to do- oh, no, Dee, I-”

“Rem.”

Remus’ wide eyes snapped to his again. 

“Pressure.”

“What?”

“I need you to put pressure on it. You shouldn’t have removed the sword, dummy,” Deceit tried a playful smile, but fire shot up from his abdomen - it wasn’t his stomach, he saw when he managed to look down, but lower abdomen, a remarkably lucky place to have been stabbed, if he said so himself - and his face fell as he swallowed a cry of pain. 

Remus frowned, but seemed to catch on a second later as he ripped his sash off and set to tying around the wound as tightly as possible. His hands were stained red, red on his sash and the ground and Deceit’s gloves, and dear God, what a horrible combination it’d be with his usual yellow accents. His vision went spotty as Remus finished the knot on the makeshift tourniquet. 

“What now?” the duke asked shakily, pleaded for instructions to fix his mistake. Deceit forced his eyes to stay open and took Remus’ hand, trying to ignore how slippery it was, slick with his blood. He could do this. He was self-preservation, and he was about to preserve some goddamn self. 

“I think,” he said, and surely he was imagining the slur to his words, because he’d never slurred his words before, thank you, “Logan knows first aid.”

And his world went black.


	6. Ever After

Since two o’clock this afternoon, Virgil had dealt with a razor-filled river that may or may not have claimed lives before and nearly claimed theirs; eyeless birds, vultures or some other thing created solely from the deep recesses of Remus’ grotesque imagination; a path that was almost definitely covered in skeletal remains of God knows what; and, arguably the worst of all, Remus’ ridiculous antics, from hanging on tree branches to pricking people with thorns - all just to get to Roman.

If he had to climb a tower to finish it off, then by God, _he’d climb a fucking tower_. 

Sure, the rain wasn’t exactly on his side there. The minute he reached the base of the building, he realized the storm had probably been an intentional obstacle, something Remus had kept under his belt since they arrived in his own personal Hellscape - the lightning and thunder didn’t bother Virgil that much (though he wasn’t eager at the possibility of getting burnt to a crisp thirty feet in the air), but the rain itself had already drenched the jutting stones, slicking them down into something that wouldn’t be optimal for free-climbing. Too bad he didn’t grab Deceit’s gloves before he stalked off; they might have actually saved his hands from getting torn up. He spared a glance over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see Deceit or Remus through the trees, couldn’t hear their antics over the thunderstorm. Too late for hindsight regrets now, anyway, he supposed. He grabbed the first stone and got climbing.

He’d never been _too_ afraid of heights; at least, not among everything else he had to be afraid of - _cautious_ of, he corrected, because he was more wary than cowardly, thanks - but he definitely wasn’t fond of them, for good reason, what, with the whole falling-to-your-death ultimatum and all- and _yeah_ , climbing a tower in the middle of a thunderstorm with no safety net or harness was pretty much the exact opposite of anything he’d ever even dream of, let alone _do_ , but, uh… no, actually, he had no rationalization for that. It was insane and he was doing it purely out of spite and (possibly reckless) determination. He did manage a chuckle to himself as he pushed up to the next few feet of stones, though; _Roman’ll get a kick out of this when I tell him._

An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach at the thought of the prince. On one hand, he was ecstatic to finally be so close to seeing him again- to save him, obviously, because Roman being in trouble wasn’t the natural order of things and they were friends and all that; but on the other hand, if Roman wasn’t okay, or if he wasn’t even up there at all (would Remus take it that far? Lead them on a wild goose chase just to laugh at the end? Virgil was inclined to say yes, so he tried not answer at all instead), then he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He didn’t want to think about Roman not being okay - not in general, and especially not now. 

A crack of thunder made him flinch, and he dug his fingers into the stone he had a hold on, closing his eyes for just a second to take a steadying breath. He didn’t dare look down, so he blinked the rain from his vision and kept moving up. 

For once, as he scrambled from jagged foothold to foothold, he was all too glad to be Anxiety. His body was shaky with adrenaline, but oddly enough, it felt more like energy now, like a spry motivation carrying him up the stones instead of fear or anxiety keeping him grounded. He kind of liked it - it made his heart beat fast and his head spin a little in a way that felt rejuvenating, _exciting_ , even. Maybe it was just a second wind after the exhaustion of his travels; he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to question it too much, _what-if_ it out of him before it got him to the window and Roman. 

Another flinch with a flash of lightning above, and he felt a stray edge knick his fingertip. His thoughts kept flitting back to Roman and it was, admittedly, distracting him. _Focus_ , _Virgil._ Focus, focus, focus… A glance up through the rain told him he had about a hundred and fifty feet left to go (woohoo); the gravelly handholds had already started digging deep into his fingers, though he supposed that was better than no hold at all, and his boots seemed surprisingly well suited for gripping the stones. If they had been just a little smoother, a little more esthetic than practical, there was no doubt he’d have slipped by now, plummeted down to the uneven ground at the base of the tower, and then the others would come and find him sprawled out and mangled-

Actually, maybe thinking about Roman was the way to go. 

_Roman,_ he repeated to himself, hoping to bring forth some good memories to carry him through the climb. _Roman, Princey, Romano - come on, brain. Give me something good._

The first thing that came to him was a moment from a few months ago, right around Christmas. He remembered the warm glow of lights that Patton had strung around the living room - they’d been fuzzy in Virgil’s vision, blurring with his lack of sleep as he curled up on the couch and sort-of-watched The Tangerine Bear, his eyelids drooping and face half-buried in a fuzzy blanket - and the lingering smell of gingerbread and hot cocoa, filling his head with a cozy and welcome comfort. He hadn’t slept in three days; he had a leftover anxiety around holidays, a remnant from when he’d holed himself in his room every Christmas to avoid the nightmarish antics of the Dark Sides and, later, to escape the awkward smiles and forced hospitality of the Light Sides as they tried to welcome him into their family. It was late at night, so he was the only one up, watching the nostalgic animation of Tangerine Bear on mute so as not to bother the others while they tried to sleep. He’d resigned himself to another night of sleep-deprived dissociation when he heard a voice on the stairs. 

_“What are you still doing up?”_

He’d looked up, found Roman leaning on the railing with a crooked half-smile on his face, almost distracting Virgil from the dark circles under his eyes. Almost.

 _“Watching a movie.”_ He squinted and tried to study the exhaustion on the prince’s face, gage how long it had been since he’d gotten a full night’s rest. _“Why are_ you _up?”_

Roman craned his neck to see what movie he was watching - didn’t answer his question, whatever, Virgil was too exhausted to push it - and lit up, shuffling down the stairs in his ridiculous crown-emblem pajamas to settle on the couch beside Virgil. He didn’t say much, but he gave a contented sigh as his eyes grazed the screen, ever the movie romantic, and glanced at Virgil a moment later, gaze flickering over his face for a moment. 

And then there was a mug in Virgil’s hand. It black and spotted with silvery snowflakes and filled with hot chocolate, a dark counterpart to the white mug in Roman’s hand, covered in gold ornaments and filled with amber cider. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon drifted to Virgil’s nose, his eyes closing on instinct to take it in. He heard Roman give a small snicker at his side. 

_“Jerk,”_ Virgil muttered under his breath, without any real malice. _“Maybe I wanted to stay up and watch the movie.”_

_“Maybe you should just drink your hot chocolate and sleep instead.”_

And though his mind had been reeling with worries until he just felt numb for the last three days, he gave a tiredly indignant grunt and took a sip of the cocoa; he felt the warmth travel down his throat and spread through his body, a perfect companion to the twinkling Christmas lights and gingerbread and fuzzy blanket that shifted as he did. He didn’t remember much after that - only that he woke up with his head resting on Roman’s shoulder as the prince snored softly, and when Virgil lifted it to glance around, he saw the lights coloring Roman’s serene face a warm gold, and his heart stuttered in his chest as he closed his eyes and slept a little longer beside the prince. 

The rain fell harder around him. He grit his teeth and kept climbing.

Roman had this one smile, a crooked grin - most of his smiles were crooked, an imperfection that endeared him more than augmented - that lit up his whole face and made a single dimple whittle itself into his cheek, and sometimes, when whatever made him happy was funny or good enough, his nose scrunched up with it, giving him a youthful glow that seemed contagious. 

The last time Patton had suggested a family baking day, Virgil had been stuck with Roman as Patton showed Logan how to mix cookie dough “with love” (which, inevitably, brought a pale blush to the logical Side’s face, though it probably didn’t help that Patton had slipped an arm around his waist to crowd closer to the bowl on the counter). It was back when Roman still seemed unsure of whether or not to trust Virgil, accepting but wary of the anxious Side’s role in Thomas’ life, so their interactions around the Mindscape were awkward at best, stunted and silent at worst. Virgil was doing his best to be a shadow of a problem that day - he let Roman take the lead, resorting himself to being an ingredient-fetcher and instruction-reader - but, of course, he managed to mess it up: he’d meant to hand Roman a cup of flour, but he turned around too fast without paying attention to the fact that the prince had stepped closer to grab it more easily, and lo and behold, the entire cup managed to find its way onto the front of Roman’s sweatshirt. 

Virgil froze then. He felt his heart drop to his feet, felt heat rush to his face as he mumbled a half-frantic apology and stumbled to find a way out of the situation with the least amount of added humiliation. In that moment, all he wanted to do was sink into his hoodie and huddle into a corner until everyone forgot he existed-

And then there was flour on his nose. 

He stumbled back a step, blinking owlishly at the white puff floating in the air before him; slowly, it faded, revealing a snickering Roman, his eyes sparkling with amusement that lacked any indignation or annoyance. Virgil brushed a fingertip across his nose, saw it come back dusted with white, and quickly connected the dots. 

_“You have something on your face,”_ Roman informed him proudly. 

So, naturally, Virgil threw a handful of flour at him. 

It was a mere five-minute battle that left half the kitchen covered in flour and cocoa powder and ended with a very disgruntled Patton and Logan, who immediately shifted into parent mode when they finally wrangled the ingredient containers away from Roman and Virgil, who were, as one would expect, practically buried beneath the weapons of their war. Patton made them go outside to shake the powders off their clothes before they trailed it around the house - _“I just vacuumed,”_ he told them, hands on his hips as Logan shooed them onto the porch, _“and if I have to again, I’m going to ban you two from the kitchen indefinitely.”_ \- and they were both still laughing as they brushed flour onto the lawn; Virgil glanced up, remnants of reckless joy shining inside him, and froze all over again. 

Roman’s hair was messy, falling onto his forehead and dusted with white even as he tried to shake it out; Virgil hadn’t really noticed before, but at some point, he’d pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows, but most of all - best of all, Virgil had thought to himself at the time - his face was bright with _that_ smile, a crooked masterpiece that seemed a perfect foreground against the flaming sunset, oranges and reds and yellows melding together behind him as he laughed and swiped at the flour on his clothes. His smile was golden, and Virgil was screwed. 

Another peal of thunder, and he was just over halfway; the stones were slick beneath his fingers now, leaving indents in his fingertips that he hoped were enough to keep his grip. Halfway there.

Virgil had only been to the Imagination twice (well, three times, if you counted the Mind Palace, and four if you counted now, though he was reluctant to do so). 

The first time was just after he and Patton started getting along, when the moral Side had dragged him on some family picnic that was ridiculously uncomfortable the entire time because Virgil and Roman outright refused to acknowledge each other. Looking back, Virgil conceded that he had plenty of reasons to dislike the prince - he was loud and conceited and didn’t bother to understand or even consider Virgil’s job, not to mention all the insults (not that Virgil didn’t return them) - but, admittedly, it was none of those reasons that garnered his contempt, at least not by themselves. Roman was dramatic, temperamental, fervent, and all Virgil saw in that was another Remus. 

The second time, months later, he stumbled in purely on accident. It had been a night filled with weird dreams of abstract terrors and hearts beating too fast and voices crowding in on him, too loud in his ear and resonating in his bones until he woke up in a cold sweat and unshakable daze; he decided, the minute he glanced around his room, that he couldn’t stand to be there. Rolling out of bed with clumsy, sleep-drunk limbs, he shambled out of his bedroom and went blindly down the hall, no destination in mind as he tried in vain to blink the fatigue from his eyes. When his hand fell on a doorknob, it didn’t occur to him that he had gone in the opposite direction of the stairs and living room, where he could have collapsed on the couch or gone to the kitchen for a drink to keep him awake. He just turned the knob and walked through. 

It wasn’t until a leaf smacked him in the face that he realized where he was - the recognition of lilies’ scent in the air and the deep croaks of frogs hit him all at once (almost as hard as that leaf), and with a start, he glanced around to find the Imagination thick with twisting trees, covered in a pretty purpley-pink flower Virgil didn’t know the name of, dense shrubs, and large-leafed plants (like the one that hit him in the face, which he was irrationally bitter about in his exhausted state). It was wild and untamed and startlingly different than the neat, rolling hills he’d seen on the family’s picnic, and it was infinitely more beautiful. 

(He’d thought something like that, just… a lot less eloquent.)

He heard the distant sound of gurgling water, so he headed toward it without much thought. After only a few minutes of ducking under more leaves and watching his steps to avoid any frogs, he found its source: a tiered brook, stretching on past what Virgil could see, dotted with moss-covered rocks and rushing gently down the gradual slope of the forest floor, the apparent congregation site for most of the frogs he’d heard. He walked beside it for a while, content in its quiet chatter and comforted by the fact that he could just follow it back the other way if he got lost. Eventually, it fell into a miniature waterfall and tumbled into a pond - Virgil caught glimpses of grey-spotted koi fish darting just under the surface and hiding beneath the lily pads floating above them - and there, sitting on the water’s edge with his shoulders hunched and eyes staring straight into the pond, like he couldn’t bother to lift his head, was Roman. 

Virgil wasn’t really surprised to see him there or anything, since it was his domain, it was just that he looked… sad? And- well, Virgil couldn’t really name it, but he looked broken down. 

Virgil stood at the top of the waterfall for a few minutes, watching the grim prince until he realized that it was like, really creepy, and he stepped back into the trees to find his way through them to the pond. There was a thin, almost imperceptible foot-worn path down the hill that he just managed not to tumble down; he skidded off its end and into the clearing around the pond, with Roman looking directly at him. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. 

_“What are you doing here?”_ the prince said finally, his eyebrows drawn and shoulders squared, ready to fight, as if Virgil would come all this way just to deck him. 

Virgil swallowed, cleared his throat. What was he doing there? _“I couldn’t sleep,”_ he offered lamely. _“I was just kinda walking and not paying attention, so I ended up in the Imagination, and then I followed the brook,”_ he gestured to the little waterfall, as if Roman didn’t know what he was talking about, and cleared his throat again as the prince just blinked at him. _“What are_ you _doing here?”_

Roman blinked again and raised an eyebrow. _“I_ made _here.”_

 _“Well, I-”_ Virgil suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a deep breath filled with lilies, and crossed his arms over his chest. _“I know_ that _, I meant what are you doing here at early-as-shit o’clock?”_

And Roman just stared at him. Mouth a taut line and eyes filled with an exhaustion, fatigue different than Virgil’s but with circles just as dark, he didn’t say anything as he tipped his head down, inviting the anxious Side to sit down on a nearby rock. Virgil hesitantly but ultimately accepted. As he settled onto the stone - one of the only ones not covered in fuzzy moss - Roman gave a small sigh, turning his eyes back to the water. Virgil could clearly see the prince’s reflection in the pond water, tinted blue and turned to ripples as a koi fish broke the surface and dipped right back down again. Roman’s eyes didn’t tear from the water. 

_“I couldn’t sleep, either,”_ he told Virgil quietly. (Virgil remembered thinking, with a twinge of guilt, that he’d never heard Roman speak quietly before then.) 

Virgil tried a playful smile that came out more awkward, _“So no beauty sleep tonight?”_

Roman, at the very least, gave him a joyless chuckle, and shrugged. _“Not tonight, I suppose. Or last night. Or the night before.”_ His face was drawn suddenly, still focused on the pond’s surface. _“Thoughts move too quickly sometimes. It’s fine, if they’re ideas or dreams.”_

_“...But?”_

Another shrug. _“But sometimes they’re more bothersome than whimsical.”_

Virgil didn’t know what that meant, so he just looked into the water, too, eyes tracing the lily pads with idle interest. The forest had its own choir as he listened: the babble of the stream, frogs still croaking, those pretty flowers rustling in a breeze he hadn’t noticed before. It was… it was nice. Calm. He liked it much better than the rolling hills and stuffy old picnic. 

_“How was Remus?”_ Roman asked suddenly, his voice odd. _“When you left them, I mean. How was he doing?”_

And then it was Virgil’s turn to blink. _“Have you not talked to him?”_

Roman flinched - barely, so slight that Virgil might not have noticed if his entire existence wasn’t built on vigilance - and looked away from the water at last, turning his gaze to a cluster of purple petals that had fallen from the trees. _“Not really,”_ he said. _“We don’t… get along well nowadays. A bit too different, I suppose.”_ He grabbed a petal and stared at it for a moment before crushing it between his fingertips. _“Maybe a bit too similar.”_

Virgil watched him silently, eyebrows knit and gaze narrowed, pretending he hadn’t thought that very thing since he first met Roman, a sinking feeling quickly settling in his stomach. _“What does that mean?”_

 _“I don’t know,” (_ and Virgil could tell he meant it). _“We’re both…”_ he shook his head, trying to find the right words, “ _short-tempered. Fanciful.”_ He gave the smallest of laughs, eyes sad with a memory Virgil wasn’t privy to, and shrugged again. _“Stubborn.”_

_“Is that always bad?”_

Roman glanced at him with surprise, as if he’d forgotten the anxious Side was there. His face screwed up in confusion as he comprehended Virgil’s comment. _“What?”_

_“You’re brothers, not to mention two parts of the same Side - obviously you’re gonna have stuff in common - and besides, everyone has flaws. You guys just happen to have similar ones.”_

It was supposed to be encouraging, as best as he could do, but he kind of regretted it when Roman’s poised expression faltered. The prince’s gaze fell sluggishly back to the water. 

_“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”_

_“We all have flaws, Princey,”_ he insisted, trying to gloss over the fraternal similarity part of that pep talk; Roman just nodded along, a practiced response, rehearsed and performed with no effort now. Virgil sighed. _“I’m impulsive,”_ he admitted, hugging his arms around himself. It caught Roman’s attention. _“And snappy, and I assume the worst about a lot of stuff- most stuff, I guess.”_

He looked over, saw Roman quickly turn his eyes back to the pond and nod along again, though he’d leaned forward with interest - Virgil watched him tilt his head at a koi fish, who tilted its head back, watched him give a tiny, awed smile at the interaction. The sinking feeling in Virgil’s stomach sank further as he turned back to the water and finished, quietly, _“And I judge people too soon.”_

Roman glanced at him again, looked him over for a moment, and offered the smallest of crooked smiles. _“Me, too.”_

Rain blurred his vision as he climbed now - he didn’t dare shut his eyes and trust blind autonomy, so he just blinked hard and kept moving, stretching for the next stone and pushing himself up and repeating over and over again with a methodical lull that he thrived on. The lightning had grown blinding as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Virgil couldn’t tell if the tower was shaking beneath his fingers or if it was just his muscles screaming for rest; he ignored it either way. If it was the tower, it could fall down the minute he left, for all he cared; if it was him, well, he’d rest when he was at the top, through the window and at Roman’s side, when he was certain he’d finished Remus’ bullshit game once and for all, when-

When the next stone he grabbed was a window ledge, and he was hauling himself through the opening above it. 

With every scream of thunder and flash of lightning pouring in through the window, deafening, blinding, Roman was more certain he was going to have a nervous breakdown. 

Being stuck in a chair for God knows how long was no doubt a factor - especially given his proclivity for moving all the time - not to mention those awful birds (who, he noted with the weakest triumph, had been seemingly driven away by the storm), but there was something distinct about the thunder crawling closer with every crash, the lightning moving from a distant spark to a painful flash just over the tower, that made him want to squeeze his eyes shut and curl in on himself forever. His throat ached and his eyes burned and his whole body was hurt and tired and he just wanted to go _home_ ; it was a desperate wish that seemed to gnaw at him from the inside out until his vision was blurry with tears again. He didn’t even bother to blink them out or away, just let them sit there and augment the view he’d seen for hours. 

Remus hadn’t come back yet. Roman couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Sure, it was nice to not have to worry about being skewered through the throat (he felt, deep down, that his brother would never actually kill him, but a sliver of doubt wormed its way into his head regardless), but there was something disquieting about his absence, the idea that he was off creating chaos somewhere else. (His sword, however, had disappeared at one point, shimmered away where it’d been sitting after he tossed it to the side in rage or mania or whatever he was feeling at the time - Roman couldn’t tell - just as the rain had started to fall. It didn’t bode well in the prince’s heart that Remus suddenly decided he needed a weapon, wherever he was.) Nonetheless, Roman kept his blurry gaze trained on the window, the spot that Remus seemed to favor reappearing in, vigilant as he could be in his…current state, which is how he was sure he was going crazy.

Because there on the window ledge, suddenly and startlingly in tandem with another flash of lightning, was a hand. 

Not a whole hand or anything - Roman wouldn’t put it past his brother to scatter disembodied limbs around to freak him out, though - but fingers curled around the outer edge of the stone ledge, holding on for dear life- and then there was another, a clear clue that whatever had climbed the tower was human, or at least humanoid. Roman eyed the debacle warily, trying in vain to shrink further into his seat, distance himself from whatever torment Remus had sent his way, resorting finally to squeezing his eyes shut, no shame left when he felt the warm tracks of tears on his face. He was too tired for this. Too worn down. Another bolt of lightning pierced the black, and it was too much, it was all too much now-

“Roman!” 

His eyes flew open. 

Before his vision could even focus, he knew who that voice belonged to. The painful hollow that had carved itself into him since he’d been stuck in the tower filled instantly with something warm, something alive, because that _voice -_ that voice belonged to blueberries over the breakfast table, and Disney marathons, and snarky advice, and midnight hot chocolate and debates about Grimm fairy tales and home and comfort and contentment and everything that made Roman’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

That voice belonged to Virgil, the most antithetical beacon of light, stumbling through the window. 

“Roman,” the anxious Side repeated with a grin as he pushed himself through the window and tumbled to the floor onto his knees. He was shaking and soaking wet, hair stuck to his forehead, eyeshadow running down his face like tears, but that smile was so bright and elated that all Roman could think was an exultant _Thank God._ “You’re here!” 

Roman managed half a smile behind his gag. _Where else would I be?_

The joy on Virgil’s face faded almost instantly, though, as he finally looked around the tower and took it in; his eyes landed on Roman again, and the flicker of the confusion in his eyes turned darker as they grazed the ropes, his smile melting into a tight frown. He hauled himself to his feet, at the prince’s side in an instant to cut his restraints with a sword from the hilt at his side - if he noticed Roman’s flinch as he drew the blade, he didn’t comment - and it was then that Roman noticed his outfit: chainmail and scant armor and a length of purple fabric over his shoulders and down his back like a cape. 

_Won’t it be oh-so-sweet to be rescued by a dashing knight?_

Roman inwardly breathed a disbelieving laugh; at least Remus kept his word. 

“I’m sorry it took us so long,” Virgil said at his side, voice uneven, like he was trying to hold back a flood of emotion and just barely succeeding. He finished cutting the ropes at Roman’s wrists, and immediately the prince’s hands flew to tear at the knot of that godforsaken gag, eager to speak, or at least get an actual breath in for the first time in hours, but his wrists were shaking and fingers clumsy; Virgil quickly stepped behind him and untangled it for him.

The instant he could breathe, his lungs filled with fire. He broke into a coughing fit, doubling over in the chair - it hurt, tore at his throat and burnt in his chest, but he could breathe, and good God, he was willing to take anything he could get right now. 

He didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the floor, Virgil’s arm around his waist and his around the anxious Side’s shoulders as he forced a few even breaths. Finally, hoarsely, he managed with the weakest of smiles, “Hey, Stormy Knight.” 

Virgil stared at him with wide eyes, a storm blazing in his gaze, but as he scanned Roman’s face, his lips finally quirked into a tiny smile. “Hey, Princey.” 

His arm curled tighter around Roman’s waist, like he was afraid to let go - Roman wasn’t complaining, even if Virgil’s clothes were cold and dripping wet - and he pressed his lips together tightly when his gaze landed on the cut across the prince’s cheek. “What happened?” he asked carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he brought his free hand up to inspect it; his fingertips were cool on Roman’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Remus wasn’t in the mood for humming, I guess,” he tried to laugh, though it came out more choked than he intended. 

Virgil didn’t respond. He looked down, found Roman’s other hand and took it in his own - his grip was gentle, and without warning, tears sprang back into the prince’s eyes, and he honestly wanted nothing more than to lace his fingers with Virgil’s and hold on until he felt normal, until he felt okay again. But the anxious Side was focused on the abrasion on Roman’s wrists, his eyebrows drawn together and teeth grit. 

Roman hadn’t actually seen the ropes’ damage yet. He glanced down, following Virgil’s gaze, and expected to feel vindicated at the evidence of the restraints’ unnecessary harshness, something to wave in his brother’s face and exclaim outrage when he saw him again (as if he felt anything close to anger in that moment). When he glanced down, though, all he felt was horribly sick; his stomach twisted, head light and spinning as he stared at the angry red lines across his wrists, spotted with blood and the early splotches of bruises just beginning to form in ugly shades of red turning purple. It was hardly evidence, he knew with a thick swallow. It was just a reminder. 

“I know this is a stupid question,” Virgil said lowly, his hand still holding Roman’s as he looked up to meet his eyes, “but are you okay?”

Roman just turned his gaze to a spot of the floor, scored with white, scraggly lines by Remus’ sword (he forced down a shiver that threatened to shake him at the memory of that awful scraping noise; a crash of thunder outside made him flinch regardless). “I don’t know.” 

He was elated to see Virgil again, to know that he’d been in the anxious Side’s mind - all of the others’ minds, he guessed from Virgil’s use of “we” - while a sitting duck in this god-forsaken tower, but another part of him, just below the surface, twisted itself in knots, because Remus was right: the others did care about him. They had come for him, and for some reason, all that part of him felt about it was guilty. 

He felt Virgil’s eyes on him, flitting across his downturned face with that thoughtful frown of his; and then, as if he could read Roman’s mind, he squeezed his hand once and said, quietly, “You know this isn’t your fault, right?” 

And Roman couldn’t hold back admitting, “It really is.” 

His chest hurt again - maybe it was the sigh he heaved, or maybe it was just the full force if the situation hitting him right then and there, after the stress of waiting for Remus to return and taunt him was finally gone and Roman felt unraveled, uncoiled and painfully vulnerable - and he shrugged, as if this mess amounted to nothing but a simple shrug. “I pushed Remus away, you know. I was the first one to try and hide him from Thomas. And I don’t… I don’t know, maybe it was fear or confusion or something like them, but it doesn’t excuse it.” Virgil opened his mouth, but Roman jumped to finish before he could start. “He’s _hurt_ , Virge, and he deserves to be.”

“He hurt _you_!” Virgil snapped, lifting Roman’s wrist as proof. He dropped it when Roman just winced. 

“Ro,” he continued a moment later, softer, “you being afraid might not excuse leaving him, but him being hurt doesn’t excuse _this_. You’ve both made mistakes.” He waited, vying for Roman’s eyes, then sighed when the prince just curled his hand tighter in Virgil’s. They both fell silent for a few minutes; a bird called out somewhere beyond the tower, a distant, hopeless cry beneath the torrent of rain and thunder, like a soul leaving its body at last. “You and Remus have never been perfect, Roman, but I know for a fact that it’s not just your fault. You can’t only blame yourself or you’ll tear yourself up inside. You’ve grown past your mistakes with him - if you’re willing to try and fix them, or at least your relationship with him, doesn’t that mean something?”

Roman finally looked up, saw the shine of concern and earnest in Virgil’s eyes as the anxious Side held him tighter, like he wanted to make it certain and concrete that he was here beside him, that he was here for the prince. There were tears in Roman’s eyes all over again, spilling over his face at last; he didn’t answer, just took his hand from Virgil’s and wrapped his arms around the anxious Side’s shoulders and held tight. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil gave a tiny laugh, hugging him back without hesitation, and Roman finally felt himself relax in his arms.

“For what?” the anxious Side asked, holding tighter when Roman flinched at another burst of thunder overhead.

“Coming for me-”

“Of course I came.”

“And just… being here. Being you.” 

“Oh.” Virgil didn’t speak for a moment, but Roman felt him hold his breath, then just barely heard him repeat, as he held the prince tighter still, “Of course.” 

The rain poured harder outside, thunder and lightning beating against the landscape without mercy; the flapping of a solitary pair of wings echoed closer and settled to stop on the window ledge, and though he could perfectly, discomfitingly picture that sightless gaze trained on him, Roman just closed his eyes and let his senses sink into Virgil’s touch.

And then it wasn’t raining. 

It took Roman a few minutes to realize the storm hadn’t just faded in his mind, it had faded _entirely_. The cold drafts had stopped, replaced by a gentle warmth that brushed the back of his neck and made Virgil’s wet clothes feel freezing in comparison, and the cacophony of thunder and birds’ cries fell away to total silence, surrounding him all at once. He almost felt comforted, but if Remus suddenly decided to wipe his landscape of chaos, it couldn’t be for a good reason. 

He was kind of right. 

When he finally lifted his head from Virgil’s shoulder, immediately he knew they were no longer in Remus’ side of the Imagination at all; the first thing he saw was the couch in the Mindscape living room, his golden notebook still askew on its arm. The second thing he saw, when he turned around, was Patton and Logan, their eyes wide as they kneeled on the ground near the stairs - Patton had a box in his hands, but Logan’s hands were red, glasses slipping down his nose with nothing clean to push them back up. The third thing Roman saw was Deceit, bleeding out on the carpet. 

“Holy shit,” Virgil breathed, rushing to stand as he and Roman both scrambled to Logan’s side; the anxious Side went ghostly pale when he saw the blood staining Deceit’s clothing, the faint splotches of red seeped into the carpet, the discarded wipes with similar scars strewn around the trio by the stairs. Roman’s eyes landed instead on the green tulle sash on the bottom step, drenched in red and ripped above a hastily-tied knot, and his heart fell to his feet. 

“I’ve stopped the bleeding,” Logan reassured before they could start panicking any more, though Virgil’s breathing was already uneven, even as Patton leapt up and went to his side to talk to him in low, careful tones. “The wound’s been sterilized-”

Virgil’s voice was sharp and echoing as he interrupted, “Is he _okay_?” 

“He will be, Virgil. I promise.” 

As Virgil and Logan broke into back-and-forth, frantic to composed to frantic again, Roman just stared. Deceit’s face was blank, calm, but it was startlingly pale; his usual capelet had been replaced with a long black cape, and its inner yellow fabric was stained with deep crimson patches, quickly turning deeper as they dried - he wasn’t actually bleeding out now, a conclusion that didn’t make Roman feel any better. The prince’s eyes flitted back to the sash tossed aside on the stairs, torn and abandoned. His brother was nowhere to be seen. He felt, on some rational level, that he should be relieved, but he just felt hollow; it was with dull surprise that he felt tears color his face for the third time today as the choked feeling in his chest returned tenfold.

“Oh, Roman,” came Patton’s soft gasp after a moment, and the living room went silent when the moral Side was in front of him, searching his eyes with gleaming concern and something ineffable as tears filled his gaze, too. “Is it okay to give you a hug?”

Wordlessly, Roman opened his arms; Patton wrapped him in a warm, familiar embrace in an instant. 

“We were so worried,” the moral Side said, voice shaky with emotion as Roman curled his fingers into the soft fabric of his cat hoodie. “I’m so glad you’re back, kiddo. I’m never letting go, just so you know,” he added with a laugh that only felt a little forced, and Roman couldn’t help but smile, “so you better get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while.”

Roman took a deep breath - Patton’s clothes, as always, smelled like vanilla and sugar, like baking and home - and hugged tighter. “That’s okay with me.”

Logan cleared his throat from where he was still kneeling beside Deceit. “Roman,” he said carefully, evenly, wiping his hands clean with an almost imperceptible wince as the prince peeked over Patton’s shoulder to look at him, “I’m also glad to see you safe. I’m sorry your homecoming was, uh, less than stellar.” 

He cleared his throat again - as if Roman couldn’t see how quickly he was blinking and the way he pressed his lips together - and stood, offering him a small nod and, in a quiet voice, “If you need to talk about anything in the coming days, my door is always open.” 

Roman gave a small, gracious smile and pulled him into his and Patton’s hug. “Thanks, Teach.” 

Despite the comfort of being home again, though, something still tugged at Roman’s stomach, the image of his brother’s sash imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. After one last minute of indulgence in their embrace, he reluctantly pulled himself away from Patton and Logan and took a deep breath. “Where’s Remus?” 

Virgil shuffled up to his side, taking his hand just as he started to dig his fingernails into his palm. Patton and Logan shared a glance. 

“He dropped Dee off here,” Patton started slowly, wringing his wrists, “and asked Logan to help him, but he disappeared after we made sure Dee wasn’t bleeding anymore.” He glanced at Logan again, a silent question in his gaze, and the logical Side nodded; Patton gave Roman a hesitant look, something between hope and reluctance. “He said, when we see you again, to tell you he’s sorry.”

The living room fell quiet as Roman blinked. 

It was Virgil who broke the silence with his laugh, a bitter, angry sound, disbelieving and sharp. Patton winced, though Logan raised his eyebrows in subtle agreement. “He’s _sorry_?” the anxious Side repeated incredulously. “That’s it? He-”

“Virge,” Roman said quietly, and Virgil’s mouth snapped shut. “We should get Deceit somewhere to rest,” he said, duly ignoring the furrowed frown on Patton’s face, the pursed concern on Logan’s, and moving instead to go to Deceit’s side. He’d process the situation with his brother later. 

After a moment of silence behind him, Virgil walked to his side and gently nudged him aside. “I got him.” 

It sounded more like a plea than an offer; Roman met his eyes, saw the thinly-veiled desperation there, and nodded, stepping back to let him kneel down beside the snake-faced Side and carry him to the couch. Roman didn’t know what had changed - he realized with a start that he didn’t know _anything_ about the last few hours, save for eyeless birds and pure panic - but he felt it wasn’t his place to question it just yet.

As Deceit’s spot by the stairs sat newly vacant, the prince’s gaze travelled almost involuntarily to Remus’ sash again. He finally gave in and went to it; he was reluctant to touch it, though he didn’t know quite why, but after a few moments of just staring at it, he slowly reached out and lifted it off the steps, eyeing the stains and tears with a mender’s gaze. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the blood out without sacrificing some of the fabric’s sparkly overlay, but the rip could be sewn together with ease. Something hopeful fluttered in his chest as he folded the sash up and let it fall, shimmering away mid-air to wait for him in his room. 

He was just about to turn back to the others when a small, yellow thing on the stairs caught his attention, hidden before by the sash. He bent down and peeled it from the carpet carefully, turning it over gently in his hands, studying its curled edges and well-loved material, before he finally realized what it was with a sharp intake of breath: a tissue paper crown, crumpled at its center from the grip of a triumphant Dragon Witch and initialed on one peak with two clumsy _R_ ’s. 

A feather-light touch brushed his arm suddenly - Patton, getting his attention as softly as possible, and offering a small smile when the prince met his eyes. “Do you want some hot chocolate while Logan gets you fixed up, kiddo?”

Roman glanced at the crown again, fingertips tracing the initials once over - red and green crayon, layered gently again and again to make sure the paper didn’t tear - before he let it fall to his room with the sash. 

“I’d love some,” he answered, turning to face the rest of the living room again; Virgil met his eyes over Patton’s shoulder from where he was perched on the arm of the couch, gave him a half-smile that said _It’ll be okay._

He wasn’t sure how certain they could be about that - the hollow in his chest had yet to disappear, a lingering anticipation of fear that had yet to fade, and Deceit was far from alright, not to mention whatever the others had gone through on their way to rescue him - but as he settled on the bottom step, taking in the smell of chocolate and the quiet chatter with exhausted relief, he saw no harm in hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll see you in the epilogue soon <3


	7. (After) Ever After

Remus always liked high places. The air was different up there - it was more free, untouched by anyone’s breath but his, and it was fun to feel it get tighter and tighter in his chest and dizzying in his head the higher he went, climbing until his vision was wonky and reality was a faraway concept. Higher and higher and tighter still until everything was clear again. Sitting up on a mountain peak, or a pole, or a tower, it gave him an openness that seeped through every inch of his body; how curious, then, that perching so high now gave him all the tightness in his chest without pushing through to the clarity. 

He’d started on the staircase - that, of course, gave him no relief, maybe eight or ten feet from the ground at most - and, crouching on the railing, watched the carpet turn deep red beneath the body of a dying friend. He watched logical hands and moral encouragements fix the scene, two pairs of glasses hiding two sets of teary eyes under two pairs of furrowed eyebrows as white was colored crimson again and again, wipes and bandages and pale, pale skin in quick succession. He watched the final step and the exhausted sighs that followed. He watched one familiar face, blank with sleep, and searched in vain for a sign of its slithery smirk or quiet laugh lines or clever twinkle. He watched, and he waited for something. The tightness of a climb. The dizzying freedom of the peak. The fulfilling emptiness of open air. But in the end, all he felt was small; so he went higher. 

Roman’s bedroom was on the second floor of the Mindscape apartment, but its ceiling stretched higher than the hallway’s or any of the others’ by far, thirty feet up and covered in golden lights that hung from invisible strings like… Roman called them fireflies, Remus recalled after a minute of staring at them, little fireflies that swayed with the smallest draft. Remus sat on a rafter cleverly hidden by their glow and swung his feet with their paths. Back, forth, back, forth, a pattern that normally would have driven him to boredom or insanity, but the image of two boys in red and green swinging their feet the same way kept him contentedly rooted to his spot. When the door opened hours later, he kept his feet swinging and saw between their blurs a limping prince - Roman always hid limps so well, managed to keep a steady rhythm just enough to disguise any flinch or irregularity with that big smile on his face, like he’d never felt pain as anything but an inconvenience - who stumbled to his bed and collapsed onto the sheets, put his head in his hands and shook. His wrists were wrapped in crisp bandages, and Remus’ vision was shattered with ropes and blood and fear in eyes like his. Just as he saw his sash sitting prim on a desk across the room, he decided he needed to go higher and left. 

His room, walls swallowed by windows overlooking a murky ocean, floors swallowed by an ocean of the miscellaneous. He sat cross-legged on a shelf high above his bed and skimmed the piles covering his carpet: discarded jackets (most of them Roman’s), crumpled papers and journals with ink-covered pages splayed out, burst pens between snapped pencils, drawings of golden crowns and crimson castles and happy faces ripped to pieces and taped desperately back together again. Stuck to one wall were the products of late-night mania, black ink spilling across pages in incomprehensible swirls and slashes, cutting deeper and deeper into the paper until the glass beneath them was scratched beyond repair - one clarity sacrificed for his own always seemed a fair trade in the moment, even if it ruined his view indefinitely afterwards.

The taut tug of a higher altitude escaped him still as he gripped the edge of the shelf until his knuckles were white. Higher, yes, but the air was too thick here. 

It was still raining outside his tower. Not pouring - not anymore - but a breeze drifted through the sole window and bit his skin regardless. He took a deep, slow breath to swallow the chill, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that clawed at his sinuses; he scanned the forest spanning out beyond the tower, eyes catching on a horde of black birds huddled beneath twisting branches, wings pulled close but necks craned to point their eyeless faces toward him. One launched from its spot at the base of a tree and soared upwards to land on the window ledge beside him. It didn’t need eyes to meet his, tilting its head at him as others followed suit and crowded around the window, blocking what little light the storm clouds let pass, a cacophony of flapping wings and hoarse screeches and scraping claws as they strained against one another to fit through the window. Remus didn’t bother to shove them away. The air had been cold, but it was no use waiting to feel something other than the grim blankness gnawing at his insides as he stared into the faces of the birds before him. 

The next few days passed in a blur. He cycled through peaks and hiding spots and altitudes and shelves and vantage points, returning to the first ones in the hopes that he simply hadn’t waited long enough, hadn’t been in the right mood; he sat at the top of the stairs, draped in darkness and hidden from sight, and watched as Roman stared blankly at some brightly colored movie, his eyes tracing the animations with as much comprehension as a corpse. Remus pressed tight to the bars of the railing as footsteps shuffled behind him, descending the stairs and slowing to a stop at the couch - socked feet, silent steps, Virgil’s funny vigilance at work as always. He watched as Roman jumped at the hand on his shoulder, watched him mumble an apology for waking Virgil, watched the anxious Side settle on the couch beside him and ask something in a low tone, watched Roman’s blank gaze turn glassy before he looked down at his bandaged hands and whispered about closing his eyes and seeing birds and feeling a hand pull him back, back, back, until he gave up on sleep for the third night in a row. Remus watched Virgil tug him to the kitchen and pull two mugs out of the cabinet, white and black and dotted with gold and silver, and make hot chocolate and tell stories with a playfully annoyed tone until a breath of a smile returned to Roman’s face beneath the dark circles and threat of shattering in his eyes. Remus listened to his brother’s laugh, and he was gone before their mugs were empty. 

He returned to the rafters next, stared at a hanging light until his vision was seared gold when he looked away. After it faded enough for him to make out more than shadows, he saw Roman’s desk was covered in sparkly green tulle. His sash hung up beside the door, perfectly cleaned and mended from where he’d torn it and stained it with Deceit’s blood; he could grab it right then, but that would mean drifting down from the rafters, feeling the pressure build in his chest until it reached his throat and all he could do was curl tight and force choked breaths back into his body, all memories of carelessness and freedom abandoned for agony. He’d grab the sash another day. 

The shelf over his bed again - hours turned to days, ashen sunshine pouring through his windows - as the door creaked open, fell shut behind the staggering figure who made his way across the room in slow, careful steps, a hand pressed to his side and the other out to brace himself against anything he could. Deceit wasn’t wearing his hat still, and his bangs fell freely onto his forehead in unkempt waves as he focused on traversing the mess of Remus’ floor without tripping. His face pinched with the effort. He collapsed onto the edge of Remus’ bed at last with a hiss of a sigh, looking around the room as if trying to memorize the decor, before he stooped down - another hiss, a sharp intake of breath, and the hand at his side pressed harder - and set to clearing the pile of scattered trash on the floor. Remus wasn’t one for tidying up, but he allowed Deceit to straighten the mess every once in a while; an odd character, he’d told Remus once, long ago, that he quite enjoyed cleaning. 

_“Your drawings,”_ he’d said, folding a ripped t-shirt and setting it gently on the pile as he nodded at the papers taped to the window, _“are like my cleaning. It helps untangle all the messiness in my mind - it clears my head, I mean. Does that make sense?”_

And it did, even now- _especially_ now. The pain in Deceit’s face softened as he gingerly uncrumpled papers and set them in a neat stack, folded shirts, laid jackets on the bed beside him to be hung; even as he clutched the bandages hiding under his sweater, he stretched to grab the acid-green blanket from the floor a few feet away and tuck it primly around Remus’ mattress. For the first time since Remus had stared at his blank face, ashen against the blood seeping from his side, he looked content, calm, wondrously lively. Remus watched him grab a notebook from the nightstand, pull a pen from thin air, and scrawl something on the first blank page, then set it on the stand again and continue cleaning. An ache filled Remus’ chest for some reason, fell to his stomach and weighed him down as he heard yet another breath of pain from below; too low, he was too low now, too low for anything but the weight, and he was gone. 

The tower again, looking out the window with a sightless gaze as he gripped the window ledge. Melting sunset to broken moon to pallid sunrise and over again, birds swarming in the trees, swooping down and clawing at each other with desperate cries, wind biting his face and whipping his hair back and forth without filling his lungs with its cold freedom. 

He stood there longest, at that window. He stood long enough to see a door open in the field at the base of the tower, to watch his brother step out and glance around the clearing, Remus’ sash draped over his arm and fingers worrying at the paper crown in his hands as he braced himself against the wind and memories that struck him. Remus didn’t move from his spot as a bird screeched overhead, but Roman flinched hard enough to stumble, and in an instant, he gripped the paper crown harder, held it to his chest, and disappeared through the door once more. And still, Remus remained. 

He liked high places, even without the sensation of old air tearing from his lungs and new air, air that was his own, filling the empty space it left behind. It was quiet. No indignant cries, no biting remarks, no exasperated sighs reaching his ears. No scathing glares where eyes couldn’t find him. No one to be compared to and no shadow to be left in. 

It’d be days before he cycled back to his room, finally fell to his bed and looked around at Deceit’s work. His floor was visible again; the papers scattered about before now sat neatly pressed flat on his desk across the room, shirts folded and jackets hung in his closet. He reached over and grabbed the journal on his nightstand, flipping through until he found Deceit’s pretty handwriting in a short note: 

_Remus~_

_I was sorely disappointed upon waking to find you’d disappeared again. You’re more than welcome to take time to clear your head, and in fact I encourage it, but I do think, with the least amount of sarcasm intended here, of course, that it’s a simple courtesy to be at someone’s bedside (couchside?) when they wake after you’ve impaled them._

_In all honesty - stop laughing, it’s a turn of phrase - I hope you’re alright. I’d like to finish our talk, preferably without swords this time, whenever you find it in yourself to forgive and meet with me to do so. Stay safe, or at least whatever is safe by your standards._

_(Also - you really should make that shelf wider, else you’ll slip off at inopportune times, like when someone is cleaning your room and trying to make sure they don’t get crushed if you fall.)_

_Yours truly,_ _~~Nagini~~ _ _Deceit_

Remus traced the letters, felt the slight indentations in the paper with a shaking finger. He slowly closed the journal and set it back on his nightstand, and went to stare back at the ceiling for a bit - maybe Deceit would come again, and maybe Remus would stay where he was, and maybe it would be okay, beyond the bandages and heaviness and unspoken apologies - when his foot knocked against something. 

At the end of his bed, resting on the comforter as if arranged with painstaking care, was his sash, spread taut to display its mended quality and sentiment. There was no note with it, but sitting just beneath the sparkly tulle was a cardboard sword - a rapier - creased from years of storage but in surprisingly good condition otherwise. Remus’ numbness edged at something painfully existent as he reached out and took the rapier between his fingers. It tugged him down, but it was different than the weight as he sat high over his room and watched Deceit clean his mess yet again; it was grounding, firm and assured and tangible and somehow his chest was tight like the brink of finished climb. 

He took a breath, and the air was open; the air was so much more than his alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading - I can't express how fun and amazing this story has been to write, and it was made so much more so by your all's support, through kudos and bookmarks and (of course) your lovely comments! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope I can continue to make content that I'm as proud of as I am this story. Thank you guys so much <333


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